


The Light of All Lights

by Titlark



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Historical Settings, Multi, Vampires, sire, sired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-01-23 15:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21322351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titlark/pseuds/Titlark
Summary: “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!”This is a story of young men who were never supposed to meet, if it weren't for an eternal, thirsty evil lurking in the shadows. In the dark, without sunlight, and without conscience, how easy it is, to turn a man into a monster?And how much love it takes... to bring him back?Read also in Russian, translated by Coffee_milk_honey, https://ficbook.net/readfic/9602503
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Comments: 165
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

It was a cold February of 1141, and a whole of England had been suffering under the Anarchy –endless bloody fights and battles between a king and a queen, two royal cousins, both claiming a right for the throne. It wasn’t clear who exactly was in the right, and honestly, it didn’t matter to anyone but a selected few. Everything the common people knew was that sixth year of the civil war had begun, and brought nothing but more fear, death, hunger, cold and hopelessness for the poor young men, who were dragged from their families to fight and die in the name of a monarch they never met and who saw them as nothing but tools for obtaining a desired power.

Events of the previous year escalated at Lincoln, in a battle that would become one of the more important ones, in the endless string of tiresome petty brawls. The army of King Stephen of Blois, besieging the Lincoln castle, had been attacked by a force loyal to the other side, Empress Matilda, and got trapped between the pliers of enemy forces and treacherous swamps, which were only enforced by the endless cold rain and melting snow. The result was bloody, the king’s army soon lost the position or formations, with soldiers fleeing over the bloodied bodies of their comrades only to get trapped in the mud or killed by the victors seeking an easy prey.

King Stephen himself had been captured, imprisoned and Matilda’s way to the throne seemed to be clear.

John Deacon didn’t care, running for his life deeper and deeper into the forest. His pursuer, some tall knight on the horse, had to give up the chase in fear the terrain would hurt the animal’s legs. But John kept on running. Every third step his feet slipped on the dangerous mud, threatening to get stuck for good. Omnipresent drizzle soaked through his frail woolly clothing, even under the leather armour, and creeping cold turned his lips and fingers blue. Bleeding. Hungry. Scared to death, his old clothes dirtied by someone else’s guts. The deep wound on his arm burned something awful, it made him whimper. He just wanted home... to go home... to his old shack and that piece of field... Veronica was pregnant with his sixth baby when he left, it surely must be born by now... A boy? Or a girl? Will he ever know? 

“Peter!” John screamed, desperately searching for his friend. Dark spots were circling in his eyes, he knew he couldn’t run any further. “Ratty!”

No answer, only a flock of ravens flew over the sky, he could see them through the bare branches of trees. He was alone, until-

Something softly rustled in the nearby bush. John’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, so far and hard was it beating.

“Hello?” he called and lifted his long knife. “Is anybody there? Show yourself!”

He prepared himself for anything, from a lost bird to an enemy. But this... he did not expect. Slowly... very slowly... Someone crawled out.

The man could be the most terrifying as well as the most pitiful sigh John had ever put his eyes on. Half-naked, of strong built, but bald and gaunt to the bone. And even worse, his whole body was covered by painfully looking blisters, as if the man just walked through an open fire. Some of them opened, revealing a strangely dark flesh. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry...,” John mumbled and made a few steps closer, unsure what to do. It was clear he was to die, not even the greatest physician could heal that.

Their eyes met, and the mysterious man hissed, baring his teeth. A chill ran down John’s spine at the sight, but after the horrors of the battle... this seemed like nothing to be scared of. 

“My name, ehm... my name is John Richard Deacon,” he introduced himself for the lack of better ideas, and knelt to the man, ignoring his own aches and injury for a while. “Is... is there anything I can do for you?”

No answer, but the wild stare he received made John feel queasy. Clenching his teeth, he cleared his throat and whispered: “Lord Jesus Christ, Saviour of the world, we pray for your servant, and commend him to your mercy. For his sake you came down from heaven; receive him now into the joy of your kingdom. For though he has sinned, he has not denied the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit-”

Suddenly, the man let out a sound that could perhaps be a barking laugh, leaving John stunned.

“You delicious little fool,” he rasped, and the disgusting hand grabbed John’s wrist, holding it firmly as he shifted himself closer, “sun caught me, but you... you came and... smell so good...”

“Excuse m-“

With an unexpected strength, the creature leaped forward, pinning John to the ground. Its long fangs glistened in the daylight just as he sunk them deep into his prey’s neck. 

John let out a scream. 

The mud disgustingly squelched when both him and the creature fell back. He bravely fought, trying to push the monster away, kicking and screaming, but no matter. Hot blood ran gushing out from his neck and the pain was so intense and blinding, the feeling so dizzying and... cold...

From somewhere in the distance came a soft “pang” of a bow, and the monster froze. A thick wooden arrow was now sticking out of its chest, more on the left side. With an inhuman screech, the creature tore the offending object out, and a dark blood splashed out of the wound, and all over John. Vaguely he felt it even got into his mouth and tasted like a rotten flesh served on a rusty plate. Despite the fog covering his senses, he grimaced.

“John!” the archer exclaimed and hurried closer, kicked the unconscious body aside and leaned over his wounded friend. “John, please, say something, talk to me...”

“Peter...,” John mumbled, “I... tell my wife...”

But Peter was already tearing his tunic and pressed the makeshift bandage on his friend’s neck to stop the bleeding. And it did stop... stream getting thinner and thinner...

“What is this...,” Peter whispered when the pale flesh grew back together, without even leaving a scar.

John opened his eyes, looking around in confusion.

“Deaky! Can you get up?”

“I... I think so...,” John blinked and with some help he scrambled up on his feet.

Peter watched him with worry. “How are you feeling?”

“Uhm... like I would throw up,” John slowly admitted, clutching his stomach, “and... my head... hurts and -oh, shit!” He cried out doubled over in sharp pain. “Help!”

“Deaky!”

Peter could only watch as his friend collapsed back on the ground, writhing in painful spasms, when suddenly... his body went limp, cold and lifeless.  
His heart stopped.

John woke up in an absolute darkness, and immediately, his senses were filled with a heavy scent of wet earth, stale air and decay. He wanted to move, but everywhere he reached, his hands and feet hit a wooden barrier. 

Suddenly, it dawned on him. A coffin! They buried him alive! He could smell the fresh wood of his prison, the soil all around, he’d even swear he heard all the little maggots crawling around. His panic spiked.

“Help!” John screamed in terror. At least he had no trouble with air, though he didn’t really think about why. “Help! Please, somebody! I’m not dead! Not dead! Help!”

Of course, no one answered, and he started desperately banging on the heavy lid above him.

“Help! Please!”

To his endless surprise, the hits managed to move it a bit, and a stream of wet soil poured in through the crack. John swallowed. Could he... would it be possible to... With a new hopeful vigour, he got down to it, furiously attacking the wooden boards and digging the earth. Finally, one of his hands broke through the surface. He could feel the coolness of a fresh air.

Slowly and painfully, John Deacon crawled out of his grave into a starry night. The full moon shined all over the tombstones, creating scary shadows of every hollow. For a moment, John stood still, lost in new eerie sensations. 

Is this how survival feels like, he thought, closing his eyes. Even then, he could feel the moonlight calmly caressing his skin, every timid blow of the night’s breeze in his hair, and all the sounds from the nearby forest impossibly loud. As if every sense sharpened and got chiselled to an absolute perfection. He didn’t even feel cold anymore, which was weird, considering the February night covered all the grass with sparkly white frost and John wore nothing but a thin shroud.

He looked around, recognized the place, and his heart fluttered with an unexpected delight. Oadby. Despite the fact they’d overlooked him being still alive, John appreciated someone had bothered to send his body home. Probably Peter. 

And Veronica! John saddened at the thought of what she’d surely come through, but then smiled. If there was something he loved more than anything else in the world, it had to be her bright smile, the one she reserved only to welcome her husband home. He couldn’t wait to see it again.

All the lights were out and shutters fastened, but when he hurried through the village, John realized he could see in the dark just fine. Their shack was just at the other side. He was actually glad this happened in the middle of the night, after all, respectable men shouldn’t run around outside dressed only in shrouds. Yes, perhaps not rich, but John Deacon was a man of manners. The Deacons were never a rich family, even compared to the standards of Oadby alone. It often worried John, and he wished he could’ve provided his ever-growing family with a better life. Oh, how the priorities change. Now, tonight, he was going to give them their father back. 

In front of the house, he hesitated. The children were surely sleeping, so he gave up the original plan of calling for his wife. Gently, he pushed on the door, expecting them to open smoothly as usual.

They did not.

John pushed firmer, yanking the poor piece of wood, nothing. What was this? He just broke out of a coffin – getting home should be a piece of cake, so...  
Not even the window shutters moved, not even an inch, and he dragged them with all his strength. 

“Veronica!” he called and banged on the door again. “Please, wake up! Open the door!”

He could hear a sound of hesitant steps from the inside, and the dear, familiar voice: “Who’s there?”

John couldn’t hide a smile, when he replied softly: “Your husband! Please, let me in!”

“Liar, my John is dead!”

“I’m not, I swear, please, let me in!” He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms again. And all his children. And to have some dinner, to be honest, he was quite hungry.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Veronica stood on the sill. Dressed to bed, wary... and beautiful, all her features just right in the light of her small candle.

Their eyes met.

“My love...,” John whispered.

Veronica kept staring at him, and her face went pale. “No...,” she mumbled. “No, get away from me, no!”

She tried to get back to the house, but stumbled over the sill, and John was quick to catch her. “Ronnie! It’s me!” he exclaimed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Let me go!” she screamed, wriggling in his embrace. “Demon! Demon!”

“No! You’ll wake children!” John squeezed her even tighter, pressing his wife to his chest. He could smell her, he could touch the warm skin, he felt the blood pumping in her veins, her heart beating fast and strongly like one of a runaway rabbit. 

Suddenly the hunger he felt spiralled out of control, turning into a ravenous, torturous need impossible to resist. It was beyond his consciousness, a primal urge dragging him forward, turning a man into a monster.

John buried his fangs into the screaming woman’s neck, gulping and sucking the warm, thick blood, and damn, it felt good. His sharp hearing noticed her pulse getting shaky and weak until it stopped entirely, but he kept sucking until there was nothing left.

With a soft thud, he let the body fall on the ground. With sharp fangs protruding and blood spilled all over the white shroud, the new-born vampire made a terrifying sight. His eyes burned with a dark fire, as he still relished from the sensations of feeding. He felt stronger, sharper, invincible.

And still hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been requested from me to write something lighter than my previous work. So... yeah... that went well. Welcome to another fluffy piece from my writer's kitchen, my friends, I hope you'll enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2

John sighed in a bliss as he sunk deeper into a hot-water bath. He could never feel cold, not anymore, and never hot, for the matter, but still, he enjoyed the warm sensation of water on his skin as much as anyone.

The year of 1534 brought an early spring, and the public bathhouse was packed with people eager to make up for all the joys neglected in colder weather. All the pools and tubs contained more people than water. In John’s, there were three drunk naked men playing dice. One even merrily asked the vampire to join, but a freezing stare was quite enough to forget the idea. 

The air was thick with hot steam, loud voices, laughter, drunken whispers and moans along with a pungent reek of old sweat, onions, spiced wine, vomit, rotting wood, and the specific, strong smell of human desires being satisfied by numerous harlots. Very obviously, hot-water bathtubs weren’t the only reason many men visited the renowned stews of Southwark. 

John leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to block as many sensations as possible and just enjoy himself. After all, the night was young, he’d already eaten, and the water heated his cold, dead flesh. There was one downside though – John felt genuinely bored as hell.

That was, until a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, teasingly pulling his head back between a pair of plump breasts.

“Mister Deacon,” the whore whispered seductively, “it’s such a pleasure to see you back again.”

John only chuckled and caressed her arm, feeling the pulse under his fingertips. He remembered this one.

“Jane?” he guessed.

“Such an honour you recognize me,” she whispered, “such a special guest.”

Such a well-paying customer, John smirked for himself, but let the whore keep her game.

“You’re so cold,” she mumbled, skilfully massaging his shoulders.

“Water isn’t hot enough to warm me,” John answered quietly, “nothing is. And press harder.”

Even without looking, he could feel Jane smirked. “An what if I can offer... something warmer than our baths. Something... that’s been burning for you such a long time... oh, John...”

One of the men in John’s tub, snotty and sneezing, took out a piece of garlic and started chewing on it. The vampire turned away in disgust, his sensitive nose screaming for help. He locked eyes with Jane, and slowly slipped his hand right into her generous cleavage, feeling the beat of her heart under his palm. 

“Perhaps,” he smiled, and tugged on the bodice, sharply tearing the laces. Jane’s breasts fell out in the plain view. John laid his head on her chest, giving a soft kitten lick on her nipple as he did so. “Take me to your room,” he ordered after a short while, and the harlot happily helped him out of the tub. She’d get a good tip tonight.

Jane’s room was simple, not very big, containing only a wide bed and a wooden chest – so it could be clear to everyone what exactly does the woman need to perform her real occupation.

“You should tell them to change your sheets,” John remarked coldly, as he walked naked over the room and glanced at the large moon visible through the window. 

The silver light danced over his pale body, bringing out all the inhuman features. His face seemed sharper, animalistic even, and his eyes glowed darkly. The prostitute didn’t notice, too busy lighting up the candles.

“So?” she smiled seductively, finally satisfied with her work. “What do you wish from me? Anything there is to warm you, I can give.”

John raised an eyebrow. “From now on, you shall call me “my lord” is that clear?”

She nodded immediately. “Yes, my lord. It’s an honour you’ve chosen your humble servant’s chamber for a visit... my lord.”

“I never come uninvited,” John smirked, “it’s one of my distinct features. Tell me... am I like all the men that have visited you before? Or...”

“Oh, no, my lord,” the prostitute quickly reassured him, “of course not, my lord. It’s so strange... but there was never a man who could make me feel... what you make me feel, just with a single glance, you make me... please, my lord, I need you. I’ve never felt a desire, such hunger for anyone, never before...”

John was most amused by her performance. He never fucked his food and couldn’t understand the vampires who did. Humans were just so... dirty, squishy and messy, not appealing at all. But... these power games, what people can do for money, oh, it never failed to entertain him.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, and Jane did so immediately. “Now, get up.” Again, no protest. 

Slowly, he walked over to the bed and lay down on his stomach. “Come here now. You started on my shoulders before and shouldn’t leave it unfinished.”

Jane got to work immediately, laid her hands on the cold, pale back and gently massaged the stiff muscles underneath. This was what John came for, actually. Not that he needed it, but... one could afford little pleasures in life. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the smell of old semen and sickness coming from the sheets.

“How does that feel, my lord?” Jane whispered. “Softer? Or harder?”

“Harder,” John hummed, “much harder. You can’t hurt me. Unlike your other customers.”

She stopped for a moment, confused. “My lord?”

“Keep going. I was talking about the French pox you keep between your legs.”

Jane gasped. “My lord, I swear I don’t-”

“It wasn’t a question,” John turned over his shoulder, “just a simple fact. Men fuck you here...,” he almost purred with a gleeful smile, “then come home... right into their marital beds... And in nine months’ time, their wives give birth to their sons... whole family ruined, sick, destroyed, their bodies and minds falling apart... because of you. Such a sad price for a night of pleasure. One would think you people could realize that. But very apparently, you couldn’t. Keep going. And don’t feel sad about this. After all, the same fate awaits you, sooner or later, you’ll turn into a deformed, paralysed freak... and die.”

Jane frowned and drew her hands away and looked away so he couldn’t notice her tears.

“You’re disgusting,” she mumbled. 

“You’re disgusting, my lord,” John gently corrected her, unphased. “Now, for the last time, keep going.”

She did so, and the touch was finally hard enough for John’s satisfaction. However, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the blood running through her veins. John sighed. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t... He’d already eaten, and he didn’t like to overdo it. Indulgence always made him feel lazy and sluggish. But... syphilitic or not... she was just the type he liked, a young girl milk-and-roses... hmm... With a defeated sigh, the vampire sat up and gestured her to come closer.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Bare your throat,” John asked quietly, “and I want you to think of something nice.”

She blinked, but then closed her eyes and did so. John slowly crawled over her, and with a silent hiss covered her mouth and buried his teeth deep into her neck.

The night already advanced when a slender man dressed as a scholar in a long black cloak walked down the streets of London. Unafraid, knowing he was stronger than anything he might encounter.

It was a mistake to suck her dry, John frowned, his stomach on water, but he wasn’t one to leave an unfinished meal.  
He couldn’t wait to be home. For years now he owned a small house near Pembroke Inn, on “Amen Lane”. John always found that coincidence rather humorous. His neighbours and servants took him for an artist, which perfectly explained all the quirks of his behaviour they might have noticed over the years. And John was always careful not to kill anywhere near home.  
All the night-time visitors were already leaving Southwark, exposing the city quarter for what it was – a dirty, neglected place full of thieves, whores and beggars. As he walked closer to the river, he could smell the unmistakeable reek of rotting fish.  
Daintily, the vampire put a perfumed handkerchief over his nose. It helped a bit.

John was just about to cross the bridge, when suddenly, a sharp scream cut the air. “Help! Please, help!”

It was coming from one of the dilapidated shacks on the riverbank. Some woman. John wasn’t exactly sure why he decided to answer the desperate call, maybe curiosity, but as he got closer, a strong stench of spilled blood hit him to the nose, handkerchief or not. And when he finally broke down the door of the shack, he had to raise an eyebrow at the scene in front of him.

The small and only room was drenched in blood, and on the ground, a woman was spread lifelessly on her back. Her stomach had been cut open, so brutally, that one could even see the intestines like a bunch of pale snakes. Some man was kneeling right next to the body, his face contorted in focus, stabbing the already dead body.

John sighed. He hated when people did this to each other. Such a waste of a perfectly good woman. The murderer looked up and their eyes met, but in that very moment, John was already pressing the man against the floor, squeezing his throat. The man desperately tried to escape, but stood no chance.

“I’m wondering,” John said contemplatively, as if holding the hefty man cost him no effort, “why did you do that. I suppose I could understand killing someone, but... this mess?”

The man squirmed and let out several colourful, furious curses. John only increased the strength of his grip, and the murderer shut up, his face turning blue.

“She’s gaunt, dressed in shreds...,” John continued, looking around, “... so it couldn’t possibly be for money. Was she your wife? And cheated on you?” After a short moment of consideration, John rejected the idea either. “Can’t be. You wear this little golden brooch... I’d guess you’re not from this area. So? Maybe... you like it, don’t you?” His pale stare pierced the man. “That must be it. You kill innocent women to get yourself off. Hmm... you enjoy the idea of being the monster.” John smiled. “Let me tell you something, my friend. There is only one monster in this shack tonight, and... it’s not you. You poor, despicable maggot. But... I can give you a chance.”

John lessened his grip, and the man gasped, breathing heavily, too stunned and scared to run away.

“If you truly wish to be a monster,” John said sweetly, “then you better do what real monsters do.” He glanced at the corpse, smiling. “Drink.”

The murderer’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I said – drink,” John repeated. “Not so mighty after all, are you? Drink.” In the last command, he put a push of vampire’s compelling, and the man had no choice but to obey.

John grinned smugly, having the time of his life, while that pathetic creature hastily sucked from the stab wounds – terrified but unable to fight the vampire’s will.

Suddenly, a small rustle from the other side of the room caught John’s attention. He snapped the murderer’s neck, effectively ending the show, and walked over there to have a closer look.

“Is anybody there?” he called and heard it again – from under the bed.

John sank down on his knees and inspected the dusty space, only to find a pair of big brown eyes staring back at him. 

“Eh... come out?” he asked.

The little creature first hesitated, but then crawled out and directly onto John’s lap, sending the vampire into an utter confusion.

A baby boy. John couldn’t guess it precisely, but it looked about six months old. Raven black hair and large brown eyes, a bit less chubby than it should be, but still quite squishy and warm. The baby glanced on the scene in front of them, and John quickly picked it up, turning the other side.  
He never fed on children if he could help it. Why have a morsel when you could just wait for it to grow in a full meal? Besides, he already ate twice this night, so even though this little creature smelled delicious, he couldn’t possibly take another bite.

“So...,” John turned to the baby, “ehm... I suppose you can’t just stay here?”

The baby kept staring at him, then reached out, grabbed the vampire’s nose and giggled. John brushed the tiny hand away. His new acquaintance didn’t like that attitude one bit.

“Please, don’t, and... oh, no, no, please, don’t cry!”

Perfect, now I look like a kidnapper, John thought, full of annoyance, as he ran down the street with a sobbing baby under his cloak, rocking it gently. What does it want? Why is it crying? Is it hungry? He vaguely remembered something about babies and milk, but where would he get a milk now – at night in north Southwark?

Speaking about the night, he had to hurry to make it home on time. 

“What do I do with you,” John sighed, and suddenly stood still, alert, because the crying stopped. Nearly afraid, he peeped under his cloak only to find out that the boy on his arm fell asleep, sucking his little thumb. John had to admit, it looked quite adorable. 

And it was his, he found it, so it’s his. But... what to do now? 

The only house with some lights on despite the hour turned out to be a small store on the Cantwick Street – a bakery, getting everything ready for the morning buyers.  
John quickly banged on the door.

“Who’s there?”

“Eh, my name is John Richard Deacon.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s urgent, please, let me in! I can pay!”

There was a small debate, then somebody unlatched the door and John slipped in. The whole place smelled of a flour, yeast, milk and fresh bread. The baker and, probably, his wife, measured John up. He stuck like a sore thumb in that place, as his cloak probably cost enough to comfortably buy the whole shop.

The baker smiled. “What can we do for you, sir?”

John quickly pulled the sleeping baby out and put it on the counter. “I need this fed and cleaned, can you do it?”

The couple just silently exchanged glances, and John got a bit impatient. Could these people just hurry up? The dawn should come in less than an hour!  
Just when he readied himself to use the compelling, a little girl, no older than six, ran down narrow stairs from an attic right into the bakery.

“Mummy?” she whined. “Edmund doesn’t want to get dressed and-“ Then she noticed the visitor and quickly disappeared back up.

John got an idea. “She’s yours?” he asked.

The baker nodded proudly. “Yes, sir. We’ve got her and another three, two of them boys.”

“So, you could take this one as well,” John pushed the baby boy closer to the couple, “it won’t make a difference, he’s small.” He really, really needed to go now. “Here,” he pulled  
out a pouch full of gold from his pocket and placed it next to the baby. “For your trouble and additional expenses. I’ll come for him when he grows, is that alright? Thank you.”

“Wait!” the baker’s wife exclaimed when he was already nearly out of door.

“Yes?”

“What’s his name?”

John had no idea, so he just improvised. “Freddie,” he said, “his name is Freddie. Good morning, madam.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was quite long after midnight, when a group of drunk teenagers stumbled over the pebble stones of a narrow alley. Muddy pools, excrements and dirt were squashing under their feet, but firstly, the youngsters were too cheery and too drunk to care, and secondly, even if they did care, in the darkness they couldn’t do much about it. Their only source of light was a torch held by a servant walking in front of them, making sure the socially exhausted young gentlemen get home safely. Everyone in the group was nicely dressed in trousers, tailored doublets and cloaks of expensive garments, though there was nothing especially posh about the smell of cheap wine and shady pubs one could pick up from two meters far.

One of them had just remarked something incredibly funny and got rewarded by a roaring laughter. Poaches with money were dangling from their leather belts. Truly a bunch of sitting ducks for those who worked for their living at night.

Hungry eyes watched them from shadows of the side streets.

“A-a-and as I always tell you, Freddie,” one of them giggled and drunkenly leaned against his friend’s shoulder, “we both know bigger cock aaaaalways wins!”

“A cockfight!” Freddie squeaked and tears of laughter were running down his cheeks. “Cocks fighting! But I like the other kind better! Don’t we, David?”

Youngster behind him snorted with laughter. “How do I know, you never fight a cock!”

“Make Freddie fight a real cock!” 

The whole group burst in a fit of helpless giggles. David tiredly leaned against Freddie from the other side, making him yelp under the dead weight.

“You... you could fight a bear,” he slurred while groping all over his friend’s stomach until he reached the crotch. The other youngsters screamed with laughter but let the two have their fun while the group slowly stumbled forward. 

“Oh, you... think too well of me, darling,” Freddie hiccupped. “N-not a bear.”

“You could!” David insisted. “You could, you could, you could, and you know why? I-it’s a thing of breeding, you know. We all know where you’ve come from and p-peasants, they’re like oxen, dumb but soooo strong when you feed them. So, we can’t do that too often.”

“I’m not duuuumb,” Freddie whined and pushed his friend back, “why do you say such awful things?”

“Just tell everyone,” David snickered drunkenly, “what you told me. Our Freddie thinks angels are watching him!” he explained, getting a deafening laugh in response from the others. 

“But they do!” Freddie teared up. “I have angels! David, I tell you! They always watch!”

“Even now?”

“Even now,” Freddie dangerously leaned forward, struggling to keep his balance, when suddenly a tall man dressed in rags arose from the night, pushed him, tore away his pouch with gold and ran.

“Hey!”

The infuriated group tried to follow the pickpocket, but they could hardly keep a straight line.

One of them giggled. “You lost your pouch!”

“Oh, shut up, what-” Freddie was interrupted by a silent, short shriek coming from a side alley, so full of pain and horror it sobered them up. They gestured the servant with the torch who nodded and slowly walked in the direction of the scream.

They found him easily. The pickpocket was lying on the ground, and in the light of the torch they could see his throat ripped apart and eyes bulging out of their sockets in horror. Dark blood was slowly flowing out of the wound, creating a wide damp pool.

The pouch was sitting neatly on the man’s chest. Quickly, Freddie crossed himself, and after a moment of hesitation, he picked it up.

“What is that...,” David mumbled, his eyes wide. “It looks like an animal’s done it. We should get out of here. Now.” 

That suggestion was met with general approval, and the group quickly disappeared from their horrid finding. Freddie stayed slightly behind. Not for the first time in his life, he felt watched from the dark. 

His current home was a large, solid townhouse on Watling Street, and after some minor difficulties posed by treacherous potholes, Freddie got there safely. He expected everyone to be asleep at this hour, or better – he hoped, but to his dismal, several windows still shined with candlelight.

“Mr. Beach wishes to speak with you,” a maid stopped Freddie in a dark entrance hall when he tried to sneak up to his room and took his cloak.

“Now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

With a soft sigh and heavy heart, Freddie nodded and then headed upstairs. Not to his bedroom, but further along the cold corridor, where was his tutor’s study. The discovery of the dead pickpocket and this half-expected summoning sufficed to sober him up, but the wine he’d drunk still made him dizzy.

The study was a warm chamber faced with carved wood. 

James Beach, dressed in dignified dark jerkin and gown lined with fur, becoming of a respectable scholar, was sitting at his desk, and only a crackle from the fireplace and gentle scratching of his quill disturbed the silence. He used to be a headmaster of his own independent school until he got an offer he couldn’t refuse. The deal allowed him to spend his days in peace and quiet writing his collected works on the country’s legal system, and also got him a student, dark-haired vivacious boy Beach grew very fond of, though he’d be the last one to admit it.

Freddie cleared his throat, but otherwise stood silent, waiting obediently for the tutor to acknowledge his presence. Finally, Beach turned around and his sharp gaze ran over his student’s currently untidy appearance, flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

“Out again, hm?” 

“Yes, sir,” Freddie nodded, not even attempting to lie.

Beach sighed. “As you know, I’ve already given up trying to make you study during your evenings, but I hope you remember out deal since the last time.”

“To be home before midnight.”

“And what time is it?”

Freddie threw a quick glance on the large hourglass on Beach’s table. “Ehm... not before midnight?”

As if on cue, a watchman’s bell rang from the outside, announcing two in the morning. Beach waved his hand in resignation.

“I only follow the teachings of Pliny the Elder, sir,” Freddie blinked innocently, bravely facing a stern stare, “and as he says – In vino veritas. What could be more worthy of a true scholar than an endless search for truth?”

His teacher raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And as Plato says, no one is more hated that the one who speaks the truth. So, no matter what wisdom you’ve found this evening, keep your wits for yourself and listen. There’s an issue more important to discuss than your choice of past time activities. This afternoon, I got a letter from your benefactor.”

“From Mr. Deacon?” Freddie’s eyes widened. Immediately, he pulled a chair and sat down. The mystery around the strange man subsidizing his life never failed to fascinate him, and he desperately hanged on even the weakest clues of who the man might be. “So – what does he say?” He tried to peep into the paper his teacher picked up from the table. “It’s longer letter than usual.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. It’s not a... usual response.” Beach sighed again, and with worry, Freddie noticed a shadow over his face. For a moment, both men sat in tense silence, listening to a soft crackle of wood burning in the fireplace. He’s old, Freddie realized, watching his teacher. Well, he had always been old, but now... sad and tired.

“What is it,” he whispered, dark eyes alert. “Will he... no longer support us? Me? We always did as he wanted, I mean, you did. Or is he dead?”

“Nothing like that,” Beach said, “but... some news nonetheless. It was my job to provide you with an education worthy of a gentleman, and I did so to the best of my abilities. But now... In my last letter to Deacon I opened the question of your future. This is his answer.”

Freddie squirmed, his stomach suddenly filled with lead. He was hanging on Beach’s lips. 

“He’s willing to pay a full tuition for you to study liberal arts at the university of Oxford.”

“He’s what?” Freddie stared bluntly for a moment until his face lit up in excitement. “Oxford? Me? But... he can’t... well, he can... But that’s beyond anything!”

“Of course,” Beach nodded. “It also means that there’s no need for you to have a tutor. Deacon sent me decent severance pay with a kind announcement that my services are no longer required, which is understandable.”

Freddie’s face fell a bit. “But...,” he mumbled, “well... I suppose... But I can still see you? From time to time?”

“If we can. But...”

“But? There is a but?”

“Into my reward, Deacon included a house and a letter of recommendation,” Beach said slowly, “both in Edinburgh. As you know very well, it was him who provided us with this house in the first place, so I don’t think I have another choice but to go.”

“To Edinburgh?” Freddie hissed and straightened up in his chair. “What does he think he is, just sending people to Scotland? You can’t go away! You...,” he gulped, “together with... the Austins... you’re the closest to a family I have. You can’t leave, I can’t leave!”

“Freddie,” Beach smiled kindly, and with a small hesitation took his pupil’s hand, “Deacon made perfectly clear he wishes you to have the best start into your life as possible. This development may be unexpected but is hardly that shocking. You need to take while he gives, whatever he gives.”

“But who is he? Why is he doing this?”

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough,” Beach shrugged and poured himself a cup of wine from a tall pot on his desk, “he wishes to see you.” 

“See me?” Freddie’s hand flew to his mouth. “See me? I get to meet him? He never asked to see me before!” Sudden wave of self-consciousness ran over him.   
The only memory he had of Deacon wasn’t exactly pleasant. Fourteen years ago, a man in a long black cloak walked into his foster parents’ bakery in the middle of the night and took him from his bed only to drop him under the care of a tutor. Freddie shuddered. He had cried for two days, until James Beach took mercy on him and they went to visit the Austins. Freddie couldn’t even recall Deacon’s face, only all that black velvet and cold hands holding him in a firm grip when he wriggled and screamed for his siblings. This... this was something he could never forgive. 

“It’s only natural he wants to see you,” Beach shrugged again, not very convinced by his own words. “He invested a lot in your life after all and is ready to do much more. You’re meant to live in his house until the first semester in Oxford starts. I believe he expects your gratitude.”

“He has my gratitude,” Freddie said flatly, “but I wouldn’t use the word “natural” when talking about him. There’s nothing natural about the man. I’m still having nightmares.”

Beach huffed and took a sip of his wine. “When I met him, he seemed to be a perfectly polite gentleman, perhaps a little stern. You’ll get on well.”

“You’re saying that to make yourself believe, aren’t you?” Freddie’s sharp eyes met the ones of his tutor. “Don’t you ever wonder... what...,” his voice shook a bit, “what is the price of all that? Nothing comes free for anyone.”

“I’m sorry, Freddie,” the teacher sighed, “but whatever Deacon wants from you... you have to find out without me. He gave instructions with an address and expects you tomorrow for dinner. He also requires you to dress your best and...,” Beach raised an eyebrow, giving a glance into the letter, “... and I’m ordered to make sure you’re properly washed.”

Freddie shivered. “I don’t like this,” he mumbled. 

“Neither do I. But it’s in your best interest to do whatever he asks and not refuse him anything. If you manage to keep his favours, with an education from Oxford, you’re secured for life. And now, go to sleep, it’ll be a hard day tomorrow.”

During his life, Freddie had many theories about John Deacon and why the man decided to take him under his wing. And as his creative mind ensured, they varied from probable explanations to astounding and highly unlikely colourful tales. He knew nothing about himself besides what his foster parents could tell him, which wasn't much. He started his life the night a stranger brought him under his cloak and put him on a counter of a bakery together with enough gold to feed a family for year. Who was he? Where was he from? Nobody knew. Freddie often asked himself the questions when staring at his own reflection in a mirror, as if his own face could bring some answers. Yet another mystery, and its solution lay together with the source of all the others – Deacon.

Freddie felt physically sick as the following day ran around him, twice as fast as any other. Servants kept themselves busy packing all his belongings while he scrubbed himself clean and took great care picking his best clothes for the dinner. His heart raced with fear and anticipation.

“So?” Freddie asked a bit unsurely and made a twirl in an entrance hall. The sun was almost setting. Time to go.

James Beach raised an eyebrow. “Fix your cloak, please.”

Freddie frowned, but adjusted the offensive piece of clothing so it went evenly over his back, the way the tailor intended, instead of fashionably over the left shoulder.

“Now? Is it good?”

“Very good,” Beach assured him and sighed. “You... you’ve been a very good boy, Freddie, and it’s been a pleasure. I wish you all the best. Now, off you go.”

Freddie swallowed, nodded and bowed a little, before slipping out on the street. “Good bye, Mr. Beach.”

Amen Lane, Freddie thought glumly as he slowly approached the address that was supposed to become his new home. How fitting. The narrow streets of London never looked so dark and dismal, even though this was supposed to be one of the better parts of the city. The cobbles were wet and covered with vast amount of smelly mud and other filth.  
It took some time to find Deacon’s house, but eventually, Freddie succeeded, and his romantic heart sank a bit in minor disappointment. Such a rich and mysterious man as his benefactor should live in a palace or a lonely castle on a hill, Freddie would accept even a former church, but this building seemed no different from all the other houses around. True, it was more spacious than where he and Beach used to live, but nothing... well... nothing worthy of the reputation John Deacon created for himself in the mind of his ward. The house was well-built but simple, timber-framed, filled in with lath and plaster. All the windows seemed to be closed and fastened with heavy shutters, almost like during days of plague, few years ago, when every house turned into a fortress. 

Freddie exhaled, trying to control his breath, and turned his face towards the last rays of warm light before the sun sank beyond horizon. He finally knocked on the heavy door, which immediately opened with a creak.

“Can I help you?” the servant asked.

“Yes, ehm... I’m here to meet with Mr. Deacon for dinner,” Freddie explained nervously and tugged on his embroidered cuffs. His whole body was itching. Did he catch lice again?

Somehow Freddie hoped this was the wrong house or that nobody knows anything about him here. Because while one part of his mind craved the adventure and ached to finally meet the only man who could put some light on his past and origin, the other simply wished to turn around, return to Mr. Beach and pretend like this never happened.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, the servant nodded. “Please, do come in. We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Mercury,” he stepped further from the door so Freddie could enter. “The meal will be served in the dining chamber upstairs and we’ve been ordered to make you feel at home, so if there’s anything I can so for you, sir, just ask.”

Freddie looked around. From the inside the house made slightly better impression. All the walls were covered in expensive-looking tapestries, furniture was carved out of solid oak wood and the decorative candelabras showed an excellent work of a blacksmith with an eye for beauty and detail.

“Please, follow me,” the servant gestured towards a wide staircase. “Mr. Deacon isn’t very fond of tardiness.”

“Eh-wait!” Freddie stopped him nervously. “I... I’ve never met him before so... could you, well, tell me what to expect? What to do? What not to do?”

He was met with a compassionate smile from the servant. “Well, he’s quite a strange fellow,” the man admitted, “spends whole days locked in his study and no one can disturb him – and I mean no one. Even our maids are allowed to clean the room at night only. That’s when he’s out.”

“And he’s out every night?” Freddie was curious. 

“Oh, yes. Whole night, every night. But I’ve never seen him drunk. Either he can hold his liquor better than most or,” the servant winked, “he enjoys other activities. For sure he can afford them.”

“Every night? Is he that rich?”

“Very rich, Mr. Mercury, around 500 pounds per year, almost like a baron of some kind. I’ve heard he had considered buying one of the closed monasteries from His Majesty, but then decided to stay here. He’s a loner, doesn’t like attention. A man of his standing should at least consider getting married, having children... but not him.”

Freddie wasn’t sure why, but he felt relief at those words, and allowed himself to relax a little, as he followed the servant upstairs. If the man had been telling the truth about Deacon’s income, then all the expenses he had around Freddie had truly been just a pocket money. And Deacon didn’t have his own family, only him, Freddie. How did Deacon see him, Freddie wondered. A family? Is that what he wanted? No...

In the middle of a dark corridor, Freddie suddenly stopped and listened to a soft sound of citole coming from the only opened door.

“He’s waiting for you,” the servant remarked. 

“That’s him?” Freddie’s eyes widened. The music was truly beautiful. “He plays?”

“Yes, quite often. At the strangest hours. Well, I should see the dinner to be served, I hope you excuse me, Mr. Mercury. Just be polite, answer his questions, and don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

“Thank you,” Freddie mumbled after the servant disappeared, and headed to the dining room alone.

Even though the heavy door were open, Freddie knocked, reluctant to just walk in. The sound of citole didn’t even waver, sweet strumming continued in an unchanged rhythm. With a sigh, Freddie braced himself, sent a quick prayer to the Lord, and entered.


	4. Chapter 4

The chamber was a luxurious room, no doubt, even more so than the entrance hall. Most of the place was taken by a large lacquered table with matching chairs on both sides. Freddie had to restrain himself not to touch the smooth surface. All the windows were firmly closed and secured by shutters, but decorated with heavy green curtains nonetheless. The only sources of light were several ornamental candelabras, each for a dozen candles, and a fireplace. At the closest possible opportunity, Freddie decided, he would have a closer look on the Chinese porcelain on the mantlepiece. 

But now, all his focus was taken by the only other man in the room. Freddie couldn’t turn away from the sight even if he wanted to. 

John Deacon looked young and slender, and even though current fashion wasn’t in favour of such physique, it suited him. Long brown tresses were framing his gentle face in soft waves, falling freely over his shoulders. He wasn’t dressed to receive guests, truth to be told, his attire was hardly appropriate even for a normal dinner. No cap, no coat, no jerkin, no neck ruffs, no jewels. Black doublet had been tossed aside, and the loose silk shirt in colour of blood contrasted with the paleness of John’s skin. Casually, he rested his legs on the table, so Freddie noticed also the close-fitting trousers and stockings of Holland wool. No shoes. 

Deacon didn’t stop playing even though he must’ve been aware of Freddie’s presence by now. He cradled the citole in his lap like a baby, strumming every tune effortlessly in a perfect harmony.

Freddie blinked. Was he... was he supposed to say something? He decided not to, but that sentenced him to standing silently in the middle of the chamber. It was awkward, watching the man so deeply concentrated on his music, but it would be rude to ignore him completely. Freddie tried to solve that issue with a sort of a compromise, which in the end felt both awkward and rude. 

Finally, the song ended, and Deacon’s cold eyes met his. The silence was thick and in a way deafening.

“Oh... good evening, sir,” Freddie bowed, remembering his manners, “Frederick Mercury at your service.”

Deacon didn’t answer, but at least he put the instrument aside, and legs from the table. Then he got up, quietly and gracefully, and walked over to the poor boy, his gaze so intense and focused it made Freddie feel queasy.

“Very well,” Deacon finally nodded softly, “can be.”

Freddie wasn’t quite sure what “can be” meant, but he decided better not to ask. Deacon was still looking at him, examining from head to toe. And did he... did he sniff him?

“So, Freddie,” finally, John Deacon stood in front of him once again, and smiled, “welcome.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” Freddie replied, though the truth of the statement felt questionable at least. His mind was twirling in confusion. Deacon was young, surely not much older than Freddie’s own twenty years of age. Why was he so young? Was this perhaps some other Deacon, younger Deacon? But no, Freddie remembered that face. The man who took him from the bakery to Beach... this was him. But how... 

Freddie had heard some stories before, about witches and alchemists in Southwark who offered strange potions to wealthy people willing to pay large sums for an eternal youth or beauty. He considered all that shady business at best, black magic at worst, but what if Deacon...

Suddenly Freddie realized the man was still looking at him, an eyebrow raised.

“What are you thinking about?” Deacon asked with a smirk. “Am I not what you pictured?” 

“Well, no, sir, you’re beau- eh, young, you are young,” Freddie felt warmth creeping into his cheeks.

John Deacon chuckled. “I’m older than I look, my little one. But you’ve grown. When we first met you weren’t been bigger than a new-born sheep. Maybe cuter back then... but you turned out to be handsome, which might be even better asset. Please, do sit. Servants should bring your dinner shortly.”

“My dinner?” Freddie asked while sitting down to one of the chairs. He felt the lacquered wood under his fingers, cold and smooth. “You won’t eat with me?”

“I’ll eat later,” Deacon dismissed him. “I don’t like doing it inside the house.”

Well, when a man can afford to eat in taverns every day, Freddie reasoned, why not. Though one would think it polite to eat in at least when you have guests. But then... he wasn’t exactly a normal guest, was he. 

“Wine?” John Deacon asked, didn’t bother to wait for an answer, reached for a tall jug and poured a generous amount in a glass. A glass!

Freddie bit his lip, accepted the drink and decided to focus fully on not dropping the undoubtedly priceless glass on the floor. His hands were shaking. 

“I hope you’ll like it,” John said, “it came all the way from Burgundy. The merchant swore on his mother’s life it was the best he had in stock. So... just let me know if he turns out to be a liar.”

“You haven’t tried it?”

“Oh, no,” John poured himself a glass of wine from another, slightly smaller pitcher. “I have quite different tastes.”

“Where’s yours from then?” Freddie asked curiously. The liquid in Deacon’s glass seemed brighter and thicker than would be usual for a wine.

“Ehm... Kensington.”

“I didn’t know they make wines there. Is it some rare kind?”

“Quite common, actually,” John brushed it off and eagerly drank half of it in one take.

Freddie realized no toast was happening, so he quickly took a sip as well and realized that this easily beat all the other wines he’d ever had a chance to taste. 

With a soft sigh, John licked his lips and glanced at his guest with new interest. “So... Freddie Mercury,” he smiled. “Your tutor wrote you had picked the surname by yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hm, Mercury... antient Romans believed it was him who guided souls to the underworld. A messenger of gods.”

“It’s also a star,” Freddie said, “Mr. Beach showed it to me. The closest one to the Sun, seen in daylight.”

“Is it?” John mumbled and took another sip of his wine. 

Maybe he wanted to add something, but two servants entered, carrying a large plate with steaming dish and a small basket of bread. Freddie’s mouth watered at the smell alone and just now he realized how hungry he was. They set it all in front of him and his eyes widened, because though they lived comfortably with Mr. Beach, the scholar was never a fan of excess and eccentricities when it came to kitchen. But this... this was something else. The tender mutton meat seemed to be roasted just right, poured with a heavy plum sauce, enhanced with a bit of wine by the smell of it, and flavoured with thyme and something else Freddie couldn’t recognize. The bread in the basket smelled divine as well, freshly baked, soft crumb and crunchy crust.

Freddie frowned, looking at his host and then back at the dish.

John raised an eyebrow. “Something’s not alright?”

“You really... won’t eat?” Freddie asked again. Because no tavern in London could make a meal like this, he could guarantee that.

“I will. Later. But you must be hungry, so... please.” He gestured to the dish. “Eat, my little one.”

Freddie had some internal objections against being called “my little one” but considering all circumstances he decided to let it slide and eagerly turned his attention to the dinner. It tasted maybe even better than he expected, a true feast. A feast for one. 

As minutes past, he started to feel a bit uncomfortable under Deacon’s quiet stare. The host seemed completely relaxed, sipping on his drink, and watched Freddie eat with a strange, hungry expression. If he’s hungry, why did he refuse dinner? What is this “eating out” rule? Maybe, it occurred to Freddie, maybe he has a mistress and plans to spend his night dining with her. That would make sense. Yes, surely, that’s the case.

“Sir,” Freddie broke the silence, “I just... I want to thank you for everything you’re doing for me, without you... well... I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d be dead,” John stated calmly and poured himself a second glass. With a sigh, he added: “People. So... fragile. I’m always surprised how you manage to keep yourselves alive considering the variety of ways one can die. All the tricks of nature... weather... too hot, too cold, too dry... hunger... animals... illnesses... and all the dirty tricks you play on each other. I’d think you’d be more aware and try to avoid them, but no. Going out at night, drinking, gambling, whoring around...,” John chuckled and clicked his tongue. “So many die young. I’m truly impressed you managed to reach the adulthood, my little one, well done.”

“Ehm... thank you?” Freddie mumbled, deeply confused. Was he in trouble? It didn’t seem so, but... His cheeks burned and he hid his face in his drink, but soon he finished it and lost the excuse. 

“More?” John offered and poured the glass full again.

“Even though it can kill me?” Freddie managed to look up in Deacon’s greyish eyes with a weak smile, trying to turn the whole conversation into a joke. 

His host remained serious. “I’d never give you more than you can manage, pet,” he explained, “and I’d never hurt you. Watching your life is surprisingly entertaining after all. Especially since you started with Lavender House.”

Freddie choked upon hearing the name of the establishment he frequently visited. The rare kind of establishment where young men could meet in private for activities not publicly tolerated. Quickly, he looked up to meet Deacon’s eyes, trying to figure what his benefactor thought of it. Nothing good, for sure. He knew! God... Freddie shivered, seeing all his prospects and sheltered life disappear beyond horizon.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and looked down. “I’m so, so sorry, I’ll never go there again, I’ll never do it again...”

In a short silence that followed, Freddie didn’t dare to raise his head, he could only hear John Deacon get up from his seat and walk over to him. A cold finger lifted his chin. Their eyes met.

“Why are you sorry, little one?” John seemed genuinely wondering. “You’re perfect for me, even more than I expected. My perfect little boy.”

Freddie swallowed, suddenly helpless with John Deacon being so close. He wasn’t sure what caused the sensation. Maybe the coolness of the touch, together with the subtle, shivering warmth he felt since the first look on his benefactor. Was... was this what Deacon wanted? Freddie never thought he’d have to give his body for a living, but he knew many would kill to get advantages he did. And especially in this case... that kind of payment wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen.

“Your hand is cold,” he whispered, looking up at the man standing next to him, “sir.” He could see vague outlines of Deacon’s torso through the red silk, and his mouth got uncomfortably dry.

“I am cold,” John agreed quietly, almost purring. “Tell me, Freddie... why do you think I chose to look after you?” 

“I asked myself the question my whole life, sir. I don’t know.”

John softly chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. Freddie watched wide-eyed how the man sat on the edge of the table and leaned over him, long fingers playing with a lock of black hair. 

“Then tell me at least this...,” Deacon whispered, and Freddie tried to ignore the way his heart raced faster and faster, “... do you believe in God?”

Freddie quickly nodded. “Of course, sir.”

“And do you believe his will is in all things? His power absolute?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you believe he loves you? Like a shepherd of his flock? Taking care of you?”

“I know he does,” Freddie’s voice now sounded a bit firmer, though still disconcerted by the questions he didn’t expect. “He’s looking after me.”

“Oh, is he now?” John raised an eyebrow, and his cold fingers traced the line of his ward’s jaw. “You seem quite sure about that.”  
“I can feel him with me,” Freddie seemed a bit reluctant, but he spoke anyway, “since I was little, when I was scared and couldn’t sleep, he sent an angel to watch over me. And every time I went out in the night – nothing ever happened to me. I just know he was close, to keep me safe, leading my way. I’m blessed The Lord loves me, sir.”

Now it was John who looked a bit confused, but only for a short moment, before he started giggling. Quietly at first, muffling the chuckle, but then he tilted his head back, his chest shaking with a fit of helpless laughter. 

Freddie pushed his chair several inches further from the table. “It’s true,” he frowned. This certainly wasn’t the first time someone mocked him for voicing his beliefs. Somehow, he had thought that John Deacon, in all his strangeness, would be different. But of course not. Freddie felt rather sad and disappointed.

Finally, John controlled himself again, and noticed the new distance. With a soft hiss, he got up and walked around Freddie’s chair until he gently touched his shoulders from behind. He truly hadn’t joked about being cold before. Candlelight flickered in a soft draught. 

“My little one...,” he said quietly, lips less than two inches from Freddie’s ear, “...I tell you a secret. This world... it isn’t ruled by God. Only the church wishes us to believe that lie, so they’d get power and money from gullible, feeble-minded herd of blind believers. God sits out there, watches the world he created, plays with us like pieces on a chessboard, and laughs at our foolish faith that all will be better. It won’t. So much death, so much suffering... if he cared, then tell me, why would he allow that? So much pain... God is cruel, little one, and heartless... and weak.”

“There...,” Freddie gulped, “there is pain for us to stay strong and prove ourselves... to one day enter the kingdom of heaven.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” John snorted and straightened up. “Pain doesn’t make you stronger, Freddie, and at the end of it there’s hell, not paradise. Only another senseless whim of the divine creator. God isn’t kind, he isn’t caring, and he isn’t fair. You know... long ago, there was a time when I was at my lowest, and I prayed, I begged, I screamed for his mercy. He didn’t listen, he turned away... and let me fall. I was a fool to believe in him,” he said coldly. “So... I got beyond him. And do you know what I realized? He has only the power we give him, and over me... he has none.”

Freddie looked on a verge of tears when he turned around to face his host, searching for emotions. “I’m sorry if... if life had been unkind to you,” he whispered, “but please, don’t... don’t talk like that.”

“I talk the way I choose to,” John squeezed his shoulders, and Freddie felt another wave of dread and chill as if coming from the body behind him, “as do you.”

“Please, sir, why did you take me? I wanted to know just that...”

“Because the God would have you dead,” John said quietly, “as a babe. But I took you, regardless of his plan. You were meant to die – and that’s why you shall live, my little one. A long and happy life. Anything I can give will be given. Anything you can learn, you’ll learn. You shall see the world, and enjoy your years to their fullest, the life he wanted to take away, the one I gave you. When I heard you frequent Lavender House, and defy the laws written in a Bible, loving what is forbidden to love... sunk so deep in a sin I’m sure so delicious...,” John chuckled, “well done, little one. You don’t have to listen to God’s rules anymore, Freddie. You’ll become a man of my own creation. I’m your God now. From now on, I say what’s right and wrong. I own you.”

Freddie gave John a firm stare. “You can’t own me,” he said. “I'm not a peasant. Neither a thing. And you’re no God.”

“You are an orphan after a prostitute I found disembowelled in a dirty Southwark shack,” Jon said, and his eyes almost pierced a hole in Freddie’s very soul. “I saved you. I feed you, I dress you, I give you everything you need and more - in what way do I not own you?”

Freddie tore John’s hands from his shoulders, got up, turned around sharply to face his host. “Yes, you’re right,” he admitted, “I owe you a lot, everything, actually. But not even in exchange for all the gold of the world, you can own a person. Never fully. Never enough. Even if you force me to do your bidding, I give myself only to those I choose. To those I give my thoughts, and my love.”

“Why should I be interested in those?” John raised his eyebrows in amusement. “My pet, I couldn’t care less for your silly little thoughts. All I ask is obedience, and if you don’t get yourself killed until the next sunset, that’d please me greatly as well. Keep your gratitude and your affections, I have no use for them. Now, finish your dinner and servants will show you your room.” 

Freddie wanted to say something, but a brief touch of cold lips on his forehead completely erased the thought. 

“I’ll see you at the same time tomorrow. Good night and sleep well.” John Deacon smiled, picked up his citole and doublet and soundlessly left the room. Not even the door creaked.

Freddie clenched his fists in helpless sadness, confusion and anger John Deacon awakened. He wasn’t sure what game he’d have to play here, but undoubtedly, there was one. And he decided to win.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun was already beyond the horizon and thick darkness crept through all the narrow streets of Southwark, when Freddie, hugged in a warm cloak, walked swiftly in the direction of the infamous Lavender House.

The smelly air coming from the docks made his nose wrinkle, but otherwise, his heart danced with joy and anticipation. He hasn’t seen David since the last night in Mr. Beach’s, almost three weeks ago – and couldn’t wait any longer. 

Speaking of the three weeks in John Deacon’s house, they went by surprisingly quickly. Freddie got a beautiful bedroom, new clothes and a generous allowance and could do pretty much anything he wanted. He didn’t even see his benefactor, except for dinners, which became tolerable once Freddie found a way how to manoeuvre around John’s quirks. Their conversations now mostly revolved around books, art, music or history, and Freddie started to be more grateful for the classical education provided by Beach. Some topics he’d discuss with his friends were out of the question with Deacon, others perhaps not, but turned out to be impossible, as the man seemed to know barely nothing about current political scene, general gossip, food, drinks, daily fashion or contemporary culture. In those cases, Freddie fell into long monologues, while John only listened, quietly sipping on his special wine. Despite his ward’s insistence, he never ate. And the peculiarities didn’t stop there, as Freddie realized when describing a play he’d seen.

“...and after the fool’s dance, the queen entered again – the same man who used the be the gardener in first act, the one with the beard,” he quickly took few bites of his fish, “and said that she knew their sons were switched at birth, can you imagine?”

John frowned in slight confusion. “The gardener was the queen?”

“Oh, no, just the same actor played them,” Freddie said and pushed an empty plate away, dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, the queen said she knew the sons were switched and then the manservant unmasked himself to be the lost princess, the prince’s fiancée, but he wasn’t a prince now, was he, but then the queen walked over to the fool and took his mask off – and that was the prince the whole time! So dramatic!”

“Eh... and she was happy to marry the fool?” John desperately tried to put the pieces together.

“No, she married the gardener’s son!”

“But the queen was the gardener...”

Freddie chuckled. “You need to get out more often and watch some plays. They’ll perform in Kensington in two days. Perhaps you’d like to go? I don’t mind seeing it again.”

“I can’t,” John said and turned away from Freddie’s surprised look, suddenly fascinated by the China display on the mantlepiece. His delicate pale profile tensed.

Freddie wavered. “I’m sorry, I just thought... thought you were interested,” he looked down, giving one last poke to the fish on his plate. He’d never admit it, not even to himself, but he’d actually love to see John enjoy himself – thanks to him, preferably.

“No, it’s not... you,” John said and got up in haste, moving his chair closer. “It’s just... I can’t go on a sun.”

“If you allow me to be honest, sir...”

“Yes?”

Freddie bit his lip. “I really admire your dedication, it shows, many would kill to have skin like yours, but I don’t think avoiding sun the way you do is worth it. Gentlemen at court use powder to make them seem paler, and then enjoy walks outside and hunting as everybody.”

John looked up and raised an eyebrow. “You think... I do it so I wouldn’t get a tan?”

“You don’t?”

Both men stared at each other for a moment. Then John squirmed.

“Well... yes, I do,” he admitted, but escaped Freddie’s eyes, and rather stared at his own hands. “And... the sun burns. I won’t go out there during the day, I... can’t.”

Freddie decided to take that as a simple fact, it seemed to make John uncomfortable. He’d never guess the wealthy loner to be such a slave of fashion.

“I drew some pictures of the comedians, I’ll show you,” he changed the topic, and before John could refuse, Freddie already hurried to his room and returned a short while later with papers and charcoal. 

“Look, that’s the scene as it was, in the corner of the marketplace...,” he spread the sheets in from of John who leaned over them with a hesitant eagerness, “... the first act, here’s the prince and the gardener...”

John frowned a touched the sheets. “There are... lots of people around,” he said.

Freddie chuckled. “Well, of course, it’s a marketplace, it’s always like this.”

“Is it?”

John’s tone sounded strangely vulnerable and Freddie blinked in surprise. “I suppose... not at night, not really. But during the day, all the stands are packed with food, pottery, fabrics, leather, baskets, sweets, spices, anything you might wish for. And people run around, selling and buying, and there’s laughter and music as beggars and comedians always play instruments on the corners, trying to earn a coin.”

“I see...,” John left that without some further commentary and stiffly returned to the drawings, pale fingers leafing through the sheets, “you have talent for drawing people. And...,” he stopped at the very last paper of all, only a face with all details taking over the whole space, “... who’s this?”

Freddie blushed but couldn’t hold a confused frown. “That... is you, sir.”

John froze for a short moment, staring at the face. Then he softly ran his fingers over it, getting them a bit dirty from charcoal.

“Me...,” he whispered. “That’s me?”

“Of course, you... you don’t have a mirror?”

John smiled, but there was no happiness in his face. “My little one, I haven’t seen my reflection in a mirror since... well...,” he thought about it, “... not even before, so... never.”

“You should buy one,” Freddie took a polished pewter plate from the table and held it in front of John. “Look, you-“

John knocked it out of his hand so hard the plate flew over the table and landed on the ground with a loud bang. “Just... don’t do that,” he said, his face stern.

“I’m so sorry, I just thought... you would like what you see, I mean, you’re very handsome.”

Right after he let the words out of his mouth, Freddie’s stomach clenched under John’s direct stare.

“Handsome?” John repeated, looking back at the drawing. “Yes, I noticed... many people think me handsome. It’s helpful.” With those words, he quickly left.

Helpful, Freddie thought in annoyance as he walked down the dark street. Many people think me handsome. I didn’t, I certainly almost didn’t, Freddie decided, and tried to chase away the thoughts of the insufferable, irritating and outlandish John Deacon. There’s been something about him, lurking just beneath the surface, and Freddie, to his dismal, knew... he wanted it. He ached to break the cold, haughty exterior, like a thin ice on a winter lake, and dive in, fully and deep, in the dangerous waters, never to return. The only question was, would that be preferable to do with a punch, a kiss, or perhaps both?

Yes, three weeks without a man, that’s too long, Freddie decided and turned around the corner, lights of Lavender House right in front of him. That’s all what this is. Despite Deacon’s benevolent views on Freddie’s night-time shenanigans, he could name at least fifty good reasons why getting enamoured by that man would be a very bad idea.  
David sounded excited in the note which confirmed their date, and Freddie smiled, already giddy and warm. It wasn’t just about the body, no, there was more. Freddie loved how David behaved, so manly and passionate, pounding him to the mattress as there was no tomorrow. Sure, many times it left Freddie bruised and achy, more than he’d prefer, but that’s how sex between men works, isn’t it?

From the outside, Lavender House was disguised as a simple tavern with several half-occupied tables and a lazy waitress, but Freddie didn’t even look around, he walked straight over to the bar, and said a secret code-word to the innkeeper.

“Mr. Minns is in the room four, sir, enjoy your evening,” the bald man bowed and let Freddie walk around him and up the narrow staircase.  
The corridor was dark and smelled with rotten wood, though someone had been apparently trying to hide that with cheap perfume sprayed around. Freddie couldn’t but giggle in excitement and run those few steps to the correct door and fling them open.

“Freddie!” David exclaimed and pulled the shabby blanket to cover himself... and another naked man in the bed with him.

Freddie froze, his eyes widening at the sight. “David...,” his brown eyes filled with stinging salty tears, “I... I let you know I’d come...” He couldn’t even move, he felt like he’d just fall apart if he would.

David stretched on the bed and got up, lazily swinging his hips as he walked over to Freddie. His cock was still erect and already oiled, Freddie noticed, and his throat spasmed even tighter.

“At least it’s out in the open,” David said and patted Freddie’s shoulder, “and after all, life’s a change. I’m sorry, I completely forgot about you and tonight.”

“Forgot...,” Freddie repeated weakly. “David I... whatever it was I did, I’m sorry, just...”

“You downright ignored me for three weeks and now you complain?”

Freddie’s heart sank. So, it was his fault. “Please...,” he whispered, “David, please, I’ll... I’ll make it up for you...”

But David just shrugged and turned around. 

“David!” 

Desperately, Freddie grabbed for his lover’s shoulder, but at the touch David quickly turned around and a sharp fist landed on Freddie’s cheek. 

He could feel a metal taste of blood in his mouth and his tears sprung freely.

“David, please, I’ll be good...,” he sobbed.

“Just get out...,” David mumbled, pushed Freddie out on the corridor again and banged the door shut.

Freddie didn’t know how he got out of the House, and he just faintly realized he was running down the dark streets of Southwark, barely holding down his cries and whimpers. His heart had been broken to small hurtful shards. His whole body ached, and his head was spinning, when suddenly he crashed right into someone. 

Freddie wanted to apologise and keep running, but two strong cold arms held him tight.

“Freddie!” John Deacon pushed him a bit further so he could see his face, and the usually stoic eyes widened. “What happened? Where are you going?”

“To the river!”

“Why?”

“To make a hole in it!” Freddie squirmed in the iron grasp and a new stream of tears gushed on his cheeks.

John frowned. He hated this. He really hated this, this was his human, he hated to see him that upset. Slowly, he loosened the grip and let Freddie dive in his embrace.

“I... I was...,” Freddie sniffled in the black velvet cloak.

John let out some vague cooing hums, patting his ward’s back. He wasn’t sure if that helped but it didn’t seem to hurt either.

“Do you... do you want a handkerchief?” he asked, pulled himself out from the embrace and handed Freddie the little square of fabric. 

Yes, much better. John knew upset people liked hugging, but he hadn’t eaten tonight, so better keep a reasonable distance.

“What happened?” he asked again.

Freddie sniffled some more but managed to conduct himself and stopped crying. “I went to L-Lavender House,” he was just feeling too miserable to even think of lying to John, “and... David... my friend... he was there with someone else and said... said...”

John tilted his head. In the moonlight he could see half of Freddie’s face clearly swollen, and the smell the blood upset his empty stomach.  
“He hurt you?” John asked matter-of-factly. 

“J-Just a little,” Freddie admitted sheepishly, “it was my fault, he didn’t mean to.”

“You’re stupid to think that,” John said, and looked back towards the Lavender House. “Wait for me here, will you? I’m right back and then we go home.”

“W-Wait, where-”

But John already disappeared in the dark.

“A man called David.” With a vehement gesture John threw a small pouch of gold on the bar right in front of the innkeeper. “Is he still here?” 

The man recoiled a little from the fuming customer, but replied: “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, this is a small tavern, people come, people go...”

John raised an eyebrow. “And I suppose your memory isn’t what it used to be...”

“That’s correct, sir,” the man sighed, “time, the cruel time...”

“Then you’re lucky,” John smiled, “because I would have just a miraculous remedy.” He pulled a second similar-sized pouch from his pocket. “So?”

The innkeeper seemed to be thinking. “Hmm... something... something’s coming to me, perhaps if you could spare a bit more of the miracle...”

“Oh, of course,” John nodded, but instead of pulling out more gold, he grabbed the man’s chin and forced him to look him in the eyes. “How do you like this dosing?” he hissed and pressed harder. His lips parted to reveal two sharp fangs of a hungry vampire. 

The innkeeper gasped. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Pater noster, qui est in coelis... coelis...”

“It continues - ...sanctificetur nomen tuum,” John said smugly. “Or you can tell me about the man.”

“He... he’s still in there, room number four.”

“And your memory’s cured,” John scooped his money back from the bar. “No need to thank me. And actually...,” after a short thinking he threw one of the pouches back, “... that’ll be for the cleaning.”

And slipped around the man without further delay. 

The innkeeper just poured himself a generous drink and pretended he didn’t hear the muffled screams from upstairs.

“Are you asleep?” John asked quietly when he entered Freddie’s room two hours later. The tight bundle on the bed just curled itself a bit tighter and let out several sobs. “I... I brought something for you.”

No answer, and John was slowly getting irritated. If he knew he’d be put through all this, he’d tear that bastard on way smaller pieces. Swiftly, he walked over the thick carpet to the bed and laid his tray on the bedside table.

“The merchant brought it from Spain,” John said, trying to reason with Freddie’s shoulder blades, “he says their royal family can’t live without it, they’ve brought it all the way from the new world. It’s called cocoa. You can tell me if it’s any good.”

Freddie only whimpered and hid his head under the pillow.

John hissed. “Frederick Mercury, if you don’t sit up this very moment-”

“I want to die!” Freddie wailed and hit the mattress with a fist. “I can’t go on like this, I want to die!”

“That can be arranged,” the vampire mumbled, slowly running out of patience.

Freddie lifted his head in slight confusion. John quickly used the situation, tore the pillow away and forced Freddie to sit up.

“Here. Dry your tears,” he ordered. “Because this had already been more nerve-wracking than that plague-sore of a bedswerver deserves.”

“I’m sorry,” Freddie said and sheepishly lowered his head. John sighed and softly dapped his tears himself.

“Here,” he leaned back, partially satisfied, “now it just needs to lose that red colour and your face is just as it used to. And... why are you sorry, little one?”

“To bother you with this,” Freddie explained and sniffled.

“Use handkerchief, please, you’re leaking everywhere,” John sighed again, leaned over to the tray and added more sugar to the cocoa. “And you’ve been bothering me for the last twenty years, one night won’t make a difference. Now, drink.” He pushed the hot cup to Freddie’s hands.

The smell of chocolate was nothing like Freddie ever knew, and even despite the situation, he had to admit, it was delicious.

“It’s good...,” Freddie allowed himself to smile, “do you want to tr-“

“No.”

“Oh. Of course.”

For a moment, they just sat together silently, Freddie sipping on his drink.

“Mr. Deacon?” he asked, glancing up from the cup. “D-do you think he could... I could... I mean, this is it, isn’t it? I’ll never see him again.”

John raised an eyebrow. “For your sake, little one, I really don’t think you should see him.”

“I suppose you’re right...,” Freddie mumbled, “it’s just... so hard to... find someone who would... would... have this... preference.”

John took an empty cup from Freddie’s hands. “If that’s the only problem, lots of harlots specialize in this sort of thing. Do you rather give or receive?”

Freddie choked on the last mouthful and bent in a severe fit of cough.

“That,” he rasped, new tears in his eyes, “not... the problem,” he admitted, finally steadying his breath.

John frowned, a bit confused. “What is?”

Freddie squirmed. “There is just... so much more to it. Do you know Mary Austin?”

“Daughter of those bakers I gave you to?” John made sure, now getting definitely lost in the issue. He could only hope Freddie would get to conclusions that make some sense. People. John had been with several other vampires during his life, and they never made such nonsensical dances about it. 

“Yes, that’s Mary,” Freddie smiled, “the best person I’ve ever known. So... beautiful and kind and warm... like a sunshine. I... I’ve been in love with her as long as I can remember. I asked her to marry me.”

“I’m sorry?” John blinked.

“I know, I know what you think,” Freddie hurried to continue, “and I’d never do it without your permission, or before I have a life of my own, her father actually made that clear, he’d rather see her with a honest craftsman, but what can one do.”

“Is... money the problem?” John groped in the dark, confused. He never thought about his pet marrying someone or having a family, but he knew humans did that so... why not, after all. “If it is, I... I can buy her for you.”

“What?”

“Just tell me how much you want!” John groaned and got up, not really in mood for games with words.

“I don’t want money!”

“Then what is this about? What do you want?”

“Nothing!” Freddie raised his voice as well and straightened on the bed, his eyes wide. “Just talk!”

“Then... talk, I suppose,” John hesitated. “Even though I think you realize you can do better than Mary Austin, socially and materially, I’m not your guardian or your family to stop you from making these decisions. It’s not really... my area.”

Freddie silently sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mr. Deacon.”

John wasn’t sure what was he being thanked for, but he let it slide.

“You know, that’s the problem,” Freddie said after a moment, playing nervously with a corner of his blanket, “I really love her but it’s just... not it. And then I had David who... I never loved him the way I do Mary... but when I was with him, it had... it. And every time I think about it, it’s just... terrible,” John noticed how his ward’s eyes glistened with tears again and shoulders hunched, “and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it but want... want all of that together, have all of that in one person.”

“Oh... of course,” John said stiffly. He somewhat grasped the concept but had no idea what to say back. Wooden floor creaked under his feet.

“Of course?” Freddie repeated, tears falling over his cheeks once again. “That’s what you say, of course? I just told you I’m a sodomite who wants to marry a beautiful girl, only to make her forever unhappy, and myself too! You told me the God wanted me dead and just perhaps there was a reason for that, and you shouldn’t have saved me!”

“Shut your mouth!” John shoved his ward back on the bed, his pale face twisted with anger. Freddie fell flat, pushed down by the hands on his chest. That made it even harder to breathe. “Never talk like that, never!” John hissed. “Do you understand? I just had enough. You are mine, and you will be mine, and that means you will live long and be happy, whatever the cost! I’ll never let anyone or anything to have you for less than you are to me.”

Freddie’s eyes widened, and his heart raced, pulsating in his chest against the coolness of John’s touch, while the man was pressing him down, his face so close to Freddie’s, dangerous and full of fury. He never realized how strong John was, how tight his grip.

“And what... am I to you?” Freddie asked, and his throat tightened. He couldn’t hide the shiver in his voice.

Slowly, John pulled himself back, letting go. He regretted that flare of anger but knew he couldn’t help it. “I’m someone taking care of you,” he said, face stern. “You’re my ward.” His pale lips tightened even more when he noticed the disappointed expression of Freddie’s face. Did he say something wrong again? John hesitated. He wasn’t sure. This was so goddamn difficult. “You smell of sun,” he added quietly, earning a look he didn’t understand.

Whether the last sentence improved or worsened the situation, John did not know, but before he could think about it, a soft scratch sounded from behind a shutter.   
Freddie heard it too and got up to check.

The sound came again, this time with a soft mewing whimper.

“Freddie, what-”

But Freddie was already opening the window. John quickly considered to disappear, but it had to be around three in the morning, still dark. Nothing to be afraid of.

“It’s a kitten!” Freddie said and his eyes lit up. “It must’ve fallen off the roof and get stuck on the windowsill, oh, come on, dear, it’s alright now, all is well...” He pressed the tiny white furball against his chest, cooing softly. “And look at you, such a good boy... or a girl... such a good kitty.”

John walked over the room and closed the window shut. His chest felt heavy, as he watched Freddie all the sudden lit up and happy with – with a cat! Right after John spent so long trying to comfort him! He wanted Freddie’s eyes shine because of him. He wanted to hear Freddie laugh because of him. He wanted the sunshine Freddie brought. He needed it. 

For a moment he considered to just take the stupid cat and throw it out of the window.

“You shouldn’t open the shutters,” he said instead and folded arms on his chest. “I think I’ve asked you once already.”

“I’m sorry,” Freddie replied sheepishly, but giggled when tiny kitten paw touched his chin, “isn’t it just the most adorable thing?”

The thing... John hated the thing already. Behold, a vampire, a God, a monster of the night... jealous of a cat.

“Do you want to pet her?” Freddie offered. “I think it’s her. Can we keep her?”

“No, thank you,” he said tightly, “and... yes, you can keep her. Good night, Freddie.”

“Wait, can you-”

“I said good night.”

John Deacon walked out of the room and banged the door shut.


	6. Chapter 6

Venice was celebrating. Light boats full of lanterns cruised the deep channels, and narrow alleyways bubbled with an excited crowd. Tall buildings with arched windows and painted shutters were heavily decorated and all the lights got more and more prominent as the sun slowly descended beyond horizon.

Sweet smell of jasmine oil filled the air and John sighed in blissful pleasure, laid on his stomach, naked in his pale aethereal beauty while Freddie softly kneaded his back. They’ve done this many times before, so his touches were firm and skilful, exactly the way John liked.

The old vampire let out another soft moan and closed his eyes in a bliss.

“That good?” Freddie asked, his smile soft and knowing.

“That good...,” John mumbled against the pillow. “Keep going... Do you think it’s dark outside already?”

Freddie shortly glanced to the window. It was firmly barricaded by shutters which John had carefully sealed, so not even a ray of light got inside. The upper half of hourglass on the windowsill was nearly empty.

“It won’t be long,” Freddie said without changing the pace of his massage. His cat, Delilah, walked around and rubbed her head against his leg.

“Mmhm... I’m sleepy...” John closed his eyes and a small smile played on his lips. This just felt so good... the feeling of warm hands sliding over his skin, together with a vague feeling of sunset somewhere out there...

Freddie hummed. “Well, I can imagine,” he said, “after spending your day in a coffin. You’re stiff, no matter what I do here.”

“It’ll always be stiff,” John said and reached down to pat Delilah on her furry head, “I’m dead.” 

“You’re morbid,” Freddie opposed and pulled his hands back. “Done. You’re morbid, and I said it before, the coffin is disgusting.”

“And as I also said before – we’re not having this conversation again,” John replied lightly and sat up, wrapped in the soft sheets. “We should get ready.”

Many things changed between them since the night John found Freddie heartbroken on the street. They started to seek each other’s company, more than before. John found himself cutting down the time out of the house, so he could spend the night playing games, chatting, playing music or whatever his pet came up with. And as for Freddie, he found himself switching his daytime routine to match John’s and spent the whole night up to later sleep until noon. Then he used the rest of the day to go out and draw some pictures for John who picked up a habit to shower Freddie with gifts, treats, jewels, or really anything money could buy in return. And Freddie would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy being pampered, though he never missed an opportunity to repay the favour.

There was one unfortunate consequence of the new arrangement. John couldn’t travel for hours every night to find a good kill, so the area around Amen Lane had soon become suspicious by the number of unexplainable disappearances and murders. That’s when John suggested a journey across Europe.

They started in France, then travelled north over the lands of Holy Roman Empire. They saw Dresden, Wroclaw, spent their first Christmas together in Prague and arrived in Venice just in time for its famous spring carnival. Freddie was living a dream and adored every minute of it. He even started to see the perks of sightseeing during the night, as long as it was with John, though many times he slipped away the day later to see better. 

Long ago he came to terms with the fact that John will never let sunlight even touch him, no matter the persuasion. Freddie saw this innocent quirk grow – especially when John announced they’d be carrying a coffin for him to sleep in. In his own house, John trusted the shutters to be carefully sealed but couldn’t risk it in all the pubs and inns on the way. Freddie wasn’t exactly thrilled, but no discussion was allowed on the matter.

So, here they were, in a flat John rented on Calle Larga dei Proverbi near the famous Grand Canal. A bit small, two rooms only, but during their journeys they both got used to the closeness and didn’t complain. Two rooms, but luxurious ones, in the gently decadent way only a true Venice could give.

“Are you going to eat out again?” Freddie asked and walked over to wash his hands in a small bowl of water and to pick fresh clothes.

John nodded, spread naked on the bed, and just watched his protégé slowly undressing. “Unfortunately.”

This was another thing Freddie learned not to question, and though he burned with curiosity to learn the reason of John’s eating habits, his decency always won over the urges to find out despite John’s wishes. So far, at least.

“I hope you hurry up,” Freddie said with a cheek, “because tonight... I get lost in the crowd... and you’ll never find me again.” To demonstrate, he picked up one of the white masks he and John prepared for the Carnival and held it in front of his face. “Oh, who are you, signore?” he cooed in a teasingly high voice. “Quanto è piacente padrone!”

John giggled. “Your Italian leaves a lot to be desired.”

Freddie winked. “Then you better not let me talk to any of them.”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like that?” John smiled and slowly got up, his eyes fixated on Freddie, who played with the lacing of his shit. On the bedside table, there was a plate of fresh pieces of fruit, a refreshment for Freddie. Carefully, John picked a juicy slice of peach, dipped it in a sweet cream, and softly laid it between Freddie’s waiting lips. “Would you like me to keep you for myself,” he whispered, “to show everyone where their place is? They can have a look... but they won’t touch. Not ever, my little sun.”

Perfumed candles had filled the room with a soft, warm light.

John could hear Freddie’s heartbeat getting faster and almost smell the aroused blood. He was hungry, but... he knew he’d feed himself soon enough, elsewhere, and he enjoyed these moments, so he gave into temptation and let it continue. 

“I can’t unlace this shirt,” Freddie swallowed the treat and his eyes sparkled, “please... help.”

“How could I possibly help?” he smiled, but his hands already slid down Freddie’s chest on the lacing. So warm... so alive...

John wasn’t the kind of vampire who would have this kind of desire towards humans, but he wasn’t stupid either. He knew what Freddie grew to feel, and the purity, the honesty and fullness of the devotion captivated him. He got entangled into a web of silk threads created by the thousands of smiles, every look, every moment in Freddie’s company. John wanted this, needed this, craved it, more then anything. But he knew how fragile and fleeting human lives usually were, so different and distant from his own. He could have more, he could have his little sun forever, if... if... So little would be needed...

Just few drops of blood, few drops, nothing more...

Something inside him clenched in pain as he imagined it. Freddie, cold, pale, and strong... Everlasting. Eternal. His. And yet... gone.

“Are you alright?” Freddie touched John’s face in concern, and that brought him back in reality.

“Of course,” John looked away and quickly stepped back. “And you should get dressed, and so should I. Then go have dinner and we’ll meet on Campo Beccarie.”

“No, wait!”

But John was already in the door. “I have my costume in my own room,” he said.

Freddie frowned. “You always do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

“You know what. And you always make me fall for it. And... it’s not fair.”

John tried not to hear the small crack in Freddie’s voice at the end of the sentence. He cursed himself for ever allowing this situation to unfold, because no matter what... he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do this to Freddie, the boy whom he saved so he could live, not end up hiding in shadows, chest filled with heart no longer beating. John was hurting. But... no one can ever change what he was. And what Freddie will never, never be.

“You better...,” John said and bit his lip, “... you better just... get dressed.”

“I will,” Freddie mumbled and turned his back at him, shoulders stiff, “and it’s good it’s the time of Carnival. Anything can happen, who knows, perhaps tomorrow I’ll wake up in the bed of the venetian doge.”

John snorted. “Old Donato? Well, you’re free to do as you choose, little one.”

“Am I?” With the simple question, Freddie turned around and his eyes burned with angry fire. “Am I ever?”

“Absolutely,” John assured him coldly. “So... Campo Beccarie. I’ll be there. You either come... or not.”

He didn’t come. John was standing under the starry sky while the drunk crowd of venetians in black cloaks and white masks danced around him to the music from at least three different sources. 

That’s for the best. John closed his eyes to stop the anger he felt rising inside. The sheer mass of humanity around him and smell of sweat and alcohol were overwhelming him, and suddenly he couldn’t stand it any longer. Was he angry? Was he sad? He couldn’t tell, he just felt like the whole world was suffocating him. 

Blindly, he rushed through the crowd until he got to the very edge, seized a young girl standing alone and dragged her deeper into a narrow alleyway. No one was there. Sure, someone could come, but John was hungry, and he didn’t care. For too long he held himself on a leash, one rushed meal and then back to Freddie. Never again.

“I am what I am,” John thought angrily when he pulled his victim’s head back so sharply her spine cracked and buried his fangs into her throat. He already ate that night, but this wasn’t out of hunger, there was something personal about it.

Way too soon the blood stopped gushing out of the wound, and only dripped gently, when John quickly raised his head. He could smell her before he saw her – a tall, cloaked figure moving through the night as quietly and gracefully as only a vampire can. Then she took off her hood and revealed overflowing red hair framing a gentle, pale face.

“Well, what do we have here,” she said, and John noticed her fangs got more pronounced, possibly from the smell of fresh blood right in front of her. “I usually never allow others to feed so close to my home, but... this is a night of hospitality.”

John was looking at her and felt a sudden burn of desire running down his spine. He wasn’t with another of his kind since... quickly, John counted... since 1467, and she was beautiful.

“Have you come a moment sooner, I’d be able to be hospitable in return,” he said and threw the dead body on the ground with a soft thud. 

She chuckled. “You aren’t from here, are you?”

“I’m from England. John Deacon.”

“Francesca Rizzo,” she purred and made few steps closer, “and if you truly want to be hospitable... John... I wouldn’t want her,” Francesca glanced at the body at her feet, “anyway. I mean... you can still share. If you want.”

John shivered, though he’d lie if he said what she suggested didn’t turn him on beyond belief. Drinking from another of their kind was an intimate thing, almost exclusive to siring a new generation, certainly not something one would do on a daily basis with a stranger. But Francesca seemed to take the short silence as a yes and ran her fingers through John’s hair.

“So handsome...,” she smiled.

Biting back a moan, John reclined his head to the side, baring his throat to her teeth, and sighed in pure pleasure when she bit down and sucked.

“Should we take it inside?” he asked when she let him go, satisfied, and licked a small drop of black blood remaining on her lips. “I live on Calle Larga dei Proverbi. It’s not far. And I have a coffin, we can spend a day.”

Instead of an answer, Francesca only hungrily pressed herself on him, and their lips met.

It was nearly dawn when Freddie finally returned to the flat he and John shared. He had been determined to spend the night sulking, but after few glasses of some Italian wine he got dragged into a nice pub with merry company and enjoyed himself. He decided he should apologise to John, who would undoubtedly be in his room by now, so close to sunrise, or at least talk to him. Freddie was determined not to let it slide, not this time.  
Mr. Deacon, I need to talk...  
Sir, there is an issue...  
John, I love-

Freddie opened the door.

John let out a choked sound and covered Francesca with a bit of a sheet, but it was too little too late. Freddie was staring at the scene and colour ran from his cheeks. There was a woman, bent over the edge of the coffin. Her hair ran down her shoulders and spread around like a fiery field. Both she and John were completely naked, but that wasn’t the gruesome part – their bodies were covered with cuts and fresh bitemarks, so deep it looked like an animal had done it, and the blood dripping on the floor wasn’t red, but black as a tar. Raw and violent picture.

Francesca unwrapped her legs from John and hungrily stared at Freddie.

“What do we have here,” she murmured, and her eyes sparkled with delight, “aren’t you just delicious.”

“No!” John quickly grasped her shoulders and dragged her back, and his expression couldn’t be more different from hers.

“No?” Francesca repeated in genuine confusion. “What do you mean no? He’ll do, smells healthy enough.”

John growled. “He’s not food.”

“They’re all food. But... I get it,” she smiled teasingly, “you’ve been saving him for yourself, and now you won’t even share with a lady. Even though you’re the one who made me so hungry in the first place,” teasingly, she ran her hand through John’s hair, “you minx.”

“I’m not going to eat him,” John snapped and pushed the woman away, “not now, and not later. I don’t have him for that.”

Freddie blinked. “Eat me? What are you saying- What are you- What are you?”

“Then for what?” Francesca frowned, completely ignoring Freddie’s stutter. “You’re not one of those flesh-fuckers, are you?”

“I’m not!”

Francesca snorted. “Why don’t I believe you. Better if I get you rid of him straight away. You can always get another one later, but now I’m hungry.”

She made two quick steps towards Freddie before John leaped and pushed her away with a growl.

“You won’t hurt him,” he said, and his fangs got more pronounced with cold anger.

“Yes, I will,” she hissed, “and you’re a bloody disgrace of our kind, do you know that, John Deacon. A dirty, disgusting flesh-fucker!”

John reached to grab her shoulders, but this time she expected it and pushed him back so hard his back hit the edge of the coffin. John didn’t hesitate and attacked again just when Francesca reached for Freddie who watched the whole scene pushed against the wall too frozen with shock to even try to run away.

The two vampires fought, locked close together, teeth bared and eyes glowing, grunting and screeching, one trying to get to the human, the other desperately trying to hold her back.

“Freddie! Run!” John exclaimed and Francesca hissed in pain when John bit down on her shoulder. Only with the greatest effort she pushed him away, but he held firmly. The two figures in violent embrace staggered around the room, until John threw the woman away from him and against the shutters. Immediately, she wanted to leap forward at Freddie, but John was faster, jumping on her in a full speed.

The shutters cracked, and Freddie could only watch as the two vampires fell through the window out on the street into the first rays of dawn light.

Never before Freddie heard such a gut-wrenching scream. It tore through his soul like a shard of glass and his heart clenched in an icy fist. A scream of pain, panic, hysteria and terror.

“John!” Freddie finally got his senses together, ran to the window and looked out. The two naked bodies were lying on the street illuminated by the first touches of morning, squirming and screaming as if thrown into a raging fire.

What are you... Freddie was maybe asking himself the question, but didn’t give it much thought, as he raced down the stairs and on the street.

“John!” he cried out, ignored Francesca, whose shrieks were slowly dying out, and hurried towards his protector. 

The perfect porcelain of John’s skin was gone, as if he had been skinned alive and thrown into fiery ashes. Everything raw and wet, red and black, except for large white blisters deforming the naked scalp and once handsome face. John was still screaming, babbling and crying, trying to turn away from the punishing sunlight, but too weak to escape it. His fangs were dry and prominent in his motionless screech. 

Freddie gulped, when he suddenly understood, at the same moment he grabbed John under his shoulders and mercilessly pulled him back to the house. Into the wine cellar with not even a speck of light in.

“John...,” Freddie whispered, swallowing tears, when he laid the burned body on the cold hard floor, “please, say something, talk to me, please... don’t leave me... you can’t...”

John’s cries slowly went quiet, replaced by whimpers, and the body started to be limp.

“No!” Freddie desperately thought what to do, how to... how to save something already dead... Someone, not something. John... John... Slowly, his eyes turned to the two long fangs and the contorted face - gasping, dried out by the sun. Could it...  
Without longer thinking, Freddie tugged his sleeve up and pushed his wrist deep between the vampire’s teeth while lifting his head gently.

“John...,” he cooed, “please... it’s me, you... you must... try...”

John bit into him and Freddie let out a cry of pain but didn’t back down. He felt the blood being sucked out of him. The arm soon started to feel cold and his head dizzy, but watching John’s skin healing and growing back, hair, eyebrows and eyelashes restored was more than worth it. Freddie’s heart fluttered in happiness, flying on a soft cloud while the world was becoming less and less real... And it didn’t even hurt when he collapsed on the ground.

John opened his eyes and had to take a moment to realize what happened. He remembered the burn the pain, he was dying and then... how did he... Quickly, he turned his head towards the weak heartbeat he heard by his side, he felt the taste of blood in his mouth, and suddenly got it.

“Oh, God...,” he breathed and quickly crawled on his knees and towards his unconscious protégé. Freddie was cold and unresponsive, not only from the blood loss, but also the vampire venom, deadly to everyone but their own kind. That’s why they never left any survivors, even if one wouldn’t drink enough, their victims were sentenced to death all the same. And that’s where Freddie was now. Slowly dying, poisoned and sucked dry.

John shivered in the sudden rush of despair, and slowly, gently, lift Freddie’s head in his lap. He knew Freddie was human, he would die one day, but not like this... not like this, please, no...

“Help...,” John whispered and turned his gaze up, towards heaven, “... God, please, help. I’m so sorry... sorry for ever questioning... defying... you... You were right, if that’s what you need to hear. I promise, I swear I will love you, worship you every single day, just save him, please, please, save him... please... he doesn’t deserve this. Everything but this, don’t... don’t make me do it to him...”

There was no answer, and John waited in the dark while Freddie’s heart got weaker with each reluctant beat.

“Please... please...” John pressed a soft kiss on the cold, damp forehead and tried to fight the wave of anger tearing through him. 

Minutes went on. Freddie got nearer and nearer to the fine line dividing life and death, ready to cross it.  
John knew it. 

“You would never hear me, will you,” he hissed, and his flaming eyes looked up once again, full of dark hatred and spite. “You don’t hear the likes of me... the likes of him. You never did... and never will, and I apologise I dared to doubt that. It’s you who takes him from the light, not me. This is your crime...” 

He didn’t cry, he couldn’t, but his eyes burned. There was so little human in him.

“You want him, don’t you... don’t you!” John exclaimed and his voice broke. “Is that why? But you’ll never, never get him from me! Never. That I swear.”

With one swift bite, he tore the skin under his wrist open and held it above Freddie’s mouth when the blood gushed out. Freddie choked on it at first, but John forced him to swallow.

Anxiously, he listened to the sound of Freddie’s struggling heart. It went on for a while, slower and slower, weaker... and then it stopped.

Done.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the biggest war the mankind had ever faced. The twentieth century announced itself in an explosive manner when the European nations used any possible excuse to send their men to the front in hope to tear a bigger piece from the increasingly devastated continent. Times were changing. They called it The Great War.

Small Belgian town of Ypres was changed into a scene of tragedy, horror, death and suffering. It was a cold October that year, and young soldiers, none of them older than twenty-five, were shivering in their trenches, hungry, dirty and afraid, when the barking of heavy machine guns filled the air.

Private Brian May sank slowly from his knees right into the mud, and felt the cold water soaking through his uniform. He could smell the gasoline and human excrements from it, but after so long, three whole years in hell, he was already behind the point of caring. They say urine kills the fleas, after all. Slowly, he crawled forward, enemy bullets swishing above his head, until he got to the group of his fellow comrades.

“Spencer!” he hissed. “Hey, Spencer!”

“Yeah?”

“Any bullets left?”

“All out.”

“Fuck...,” Brian huffed and leaned his forehead against the muddy wall of their trench. The Germans were getting closer, and the machine guns couldn’t hold them back forever. As long as we’re in trenches, we’re safe. 

There was a loud explosion somewhere near, and Brian closed his eyes, trying and failing to stay calm. His hands were shaking. In trenches, we’re safe. We’re safe, we’re safe, we’re safe...

Sudden loud screams and cough from the trenches forced him back in reality. By instinct, he squeezed his now useless weapon, trying to understand what the voices were screaming.

“Gas!”

“It’s a gas! GAS!”

“Respirators on!” Spencer screamed and Brian quickly fumbled for his mask. He could already smell a piercing reek of garlic and mustard. He managed to put the filter on in time, but this gas was something new, something...

Brian screamed when he felt the gas getting on his skin, crawling in through every pore. He was on fire, choking, burning, insane in pain. Blindly, he staggered away, while the machine guns, bombs and flamethrowers still ran wild over his head, but he didn’t care, he had to get away, he had to...  
He was half out of the trench when he felt a sharp pain - and the world went black.

Few hours later, everything was already quiet. Battlefield turned into a dead, poisoned land of no one. Soft rain soaked the empty trenches and muddy soil slowly crumbled over the abandoned bodies. Who managed to stay alive had dragged the injured ones to the rear, but many weren’t so lucky.

With the night, vultures were coming.

Two dark figures in worn civil clothes walked lightly over the field, not caring about the remnants of gas. From time to time, one of them squatted to a body just to push it away and get up a moment later.

“I don’t like these,” Freddie mumbled and let go of yet another corpse, “they’re poisoned through and through. And most of them dead anyway.”

“Leave them to the wolves,” John agreed and waited on the edge of a trench until Freddie joined him again.

Both vampires looked over the devastated field, their eyesight perfect in the darkness, and Freddie sighed.

“It’s just terrible, isn’t it?” he said.

“None of our concern,” John kicked away a piece of dirt that got stuck on his shoe. “Just as all the wars before, people are ordered to kill until they are killed.”

“I know but... this one is different. It feels different, don’t you think?”

John thought about it. “I heard them saying this is a start of a modern age.” He looked over the grenade holes, trenches, barbed wires, abandoned guns and dead bodies contorted to funny shapes. “I dread to think it might be true.”

Freddie looked up to him and nuzzled against John’s cheek. 

“Father?” he asked softly.

“Yes, little one?”

“I’m hungry...”

John nodded and pressed a quick kiss on Freddie’s forehead. “Let’s try to get more in the rear, everyone retreated to Reutelbeek. We’ll feast tonight.”

The British army built their rear hastily and had to settle for little, so they decided to set up their field ambulance in ruins of something that perhaps, before all the bombings, used to be a church.

The place was in a terrible state. Overcrowded, poorly lit, surgeons and nurses running around, going more than two days without sleep. Everybody was trying to make the best of their limited supplies, fighting a battle mostly already lost. New wounded and dying were being laid on the ground, there weren’t enough camp beds. Luckier ones got a blanket. No new bandages, no disinfection, not to mention any analgesics. The air reeked of blood, pus, and excrements, all mixed together with pained sobs and wails of suffering soldiers and screams from the operating theatre.

Nobody paid attention to two men walking among the wounded, sniffing them and searching for a pulse. The atmosphere of despair left them quite unphased.  
This was just plain disgusting, Freddie decided and tightened his lips. Even for him, who grew up in medieval London. But John was right, easy kills were becoming hard to come by. This opportunity was just too tempting to pass.

He sighed, glancing around, trying to find someone who wouldn’t be poisoned through and through by that disgusting gas. It gave the blood quite a sour taste he didn’t really care for. Poor electric lights flickered.

Around ten meters away John had already picked a victim and now, squatted next to the man on the floor, he drank. Freddie very much realized his own dry throat and licked his lips. Just few steps away there was a redhead with a bullet hole in his stomach, pale and silently moaning. He’ll do.

But Freddie barely made one step when suddenly a hand grasped his ankle. Startled, he looked down. 

“Please...,” the soldier whispered, only half conscious. 

Freddie instinctively recoiled. The man was gaunt and burning in fever, dirty with mud and dry blood. Gas destroyed the soldier’s skin beyond repair, leaving only raw flesh and wet glossy blisters. His voice was dry and raspy, throat burned by the gas. The frail uniform seemed to be soaking with blood, and Freddie could already smell a gangrene getting started. 

“Please... please...,” the man begged again, though even speaking must’ve been exhausting.

“What do you need, darling?” Freddie kneeled next to the man and carefully took his hand. “You’re in waiting line for a surgery.”

The man seemed to have a trouble to focus his stare, his retinas whitened and burned. “M-morphine...?” he asked with hope.

Freddie smiled. “I don’t have any, dear, and I don’t think there’s any around either.”

With every laboured breath the man wheezed. Pain was clear on his damaged, contorted face, yet, he didn’t give up, and didn’t let go.

“Water?” he whispered. 

This time was Freddie able to comply, taking a flask of water laid nearby. Gently, he lifted the man’s head and pressed the opening to the dry lips.

“Here, small sips,” Freddie said softly, careful not to have his patient choke, “that’s it. Enough? Alright... Aren’t you a fighter, dear. What’s your name?”

The soldier tried to answer, but the effort turned into a fit of violent cough. Droplets of blood landed all over his uniform and Freddie’s hand. 

“Brian...,” he finally managed hoarsely while his eyes were closing and his grip on Freddie’s ankle became weaker. “And... I... you don’t...”

“What is this?” John’s voice from above startled Freddie. The older vampire seemed more surprised than upset, tilting his head. “If you want to drink from him, well...,” he sniffed, “poisoned, but as you wish.”

“He’s not...,” Freddie looked down, hesitating, “... Brian’s not food. I want to help him. Can we?” 

He almost expected John to shout or laugh, but his sire did neither, quickly getting down next to the soldier.

“He’s dying,” he said simply.

Freddie nodded. “I know.”

“I suppose... we can kill the ones in line before him, so he gets the surgery sooner, but that wouldn’t be any guarantee...” John quickly unbuttoned Brian’s uniform to reveal a wide gaping wound, probably after a shot from a machine gun. That’s where all the blood came from. “See?” he pointed. “He won’t last. We can only end his suffering.”

Brian squeezed Freddie’s hand tighter, whining softly, he couldn’t do much more. His strengths were leaving him.

“He wants to live,” Freddie frowned, feeling protective over this strange encounter.

John raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly.”

Freddie returned the hard stare, but his eyes slowly softened, when he reached for John’s hand.

“Father...,” he said, and his voice was quiet and pleading, “... John... please... do it for him. For me.”

John’s lips tightened when he gave a second look to the man beside them. “What did you say his name was?” he asked.

“Brian.”

“Brian...,” John repeated and smiled, meeting the hazed glance of brown eyes.

“So, you’ll do it?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

Freddie smiled and pulled John into a soft kiss. “Yes,” he whispered against his sire’s lips, “that’s what I want.”

John nodded. “Together then.” He offered his wrist and Freddie quickly dived his fangs in.

Brian’s eyes widened with horror at the sight. “No...,” he mumbled, “no, no, no...”

“Shhhh, little one,” John whispered and pushed his wrist against Brian’s lips. “Just drink, all will be well. Just drink.” For several short seconds, Brian put up a fight, but then John forced himself deeper and Brian finally swallowed what was offered.

“Do we stay?” Freddie asked when Brian’s body went limp.

“Better not,” John decided. “We’ll come back later. Now, you really have to eat.”

Freddie almost forgot how parched he was until John pointed it out. Quickly, he leaped towards another soldier and without further delay he bit down.

Following night, two shadows crept through the dark around the field hospital once again. This time they didn’t care for the building itself but headed further along the way towards the village cemetery. Nobody had time to dig each dead soldier his own grave, so all the unfortunates were thrown into a big hole behind the wall and covered with soil. 

For the purpose of tonight, the vampires brought shovels.

Freddie made a face, looking at the dark pile. The smell of already decomposing bodies irritated his sensitive nose. A group of crows hoping for some fresh meat was watching from a nearby tree, but sensing a presence of the vampires, they didn’t dare to get closer.

“I suppose...,” he said and heaved up his shovel in determination, “... we’ll have to help the poor dear.”

John nodded, visibly tense, and his eyes didn’t even for a moment move from the mass grave. Both he and Freddie could smell a new-born vampire out of there, even over the reek of corpses around. A very distinctive smell, attracting adult vampires from far away. John often wondered if the reason for that was to ensure no new-born stays unprotected. Perhaps, perhaps not, and honestly, at the moment, reasons were the last thing in his head. Instincts, sensing his sired in distress, were screaming.

“We should dig from the west side,” John said and without further delay his shovel attacked the soil. Freddie immediately started digging by his side.

It took longer than they expected, but the knew they were getting closer.

Suddenly, John held up his hand and stepped aside, as they both could hear a quiet shuffling from inside the grave. “He’s coming...,” he whispered, and let emotions slip into his voice.   
Freddie understood, he couldn’t wait either.

They watched, how one of the dead bodies in the hole moved, pushed aside, and the new vampire crawled out into the moonlight. His face was an expression of shock, horror and pain.

“Welcome back, little one,” John smiled, but suppressed the urge to walk towards his new creation, trying to give him time and space he needed.

Freddie stood silent, few steps back, and couldn’t but feel a sincere compassion for his new brother. He remembered all too well the feeling of being reborn, even after all these years. The confusion, all the new sensations, and the one pull, longing stronger than any... the bond to his sire. 

Brian kept glancing around, as if trying to solve a riddle, letting out soft, silent whines. 

“There’s no need to be scared,” John said, not taking his eyes off Brian, luring him in like a wild fawn, “you’re safe now, little one.”

“Y-You...,” Brian breathed out and made several hesitant steps towards John.

“How are you feeling?” John asked and got close enough to touch Brian’s shoulder. The new vampire didn’t recoil, inevitably drawn to his sire. New-born, small and vulnerable, at least for the vampire standards.

“Are you thirsty?” 

Brian silently nodded, touching his lips with a soft cry.

“Shhhh,” John cooed, baring his neck, “I know, my dear, I know. I’m here for you. I won’t let anything to happen to you. Drink now, little one.”

Brian blinked, unsure what was expected of him, but then his instincts kicked in. New fangs sparkled in the moonlight when he sank his them into John’s neck and sucked eagerly.  
John let out a soft moan of pleasure, and so did Brian, whimpering softly against his sire’s skin while the warm blood flowed in his stomach.

Their bond was sealed.


	8. Chapter 8

Shortly before midnight, the nightclub was bursting in its seams. 

People danced, dressed in provocative outfits, and sang like mad filled with the energy around. Alcohol, drugs, flickering lights, sweaty bodies and a beat so loud it felt like coming from the very depths of one’s soul. The air got nearly unbreathable, filled with cigarette smoke, but who could possibly care?

“Get me another oneeee, bitches!” Roger squealed and laughed as he nearly fell on a bar stool, turning towards his friends on the dance floor. The overall heat glistened on his lanky body and dark blond hair clung to his wet skin, in the same way as the tight, flamboyant outfit. He was having a time of his life, young, wild and, politely said, drunk off his arse.

For a moment he squinted short-sightedly into the crowd, searching for his companions, but everything was just a one big blur. Whatever. He took his loss philosophically and turned to the bar to order.

“That’s on me,” some hand stopped him when he reached for money.

“I’m not a girl,” Roger snapped, “so if you excuse- oh...” the rest of the sentence just vanished when he got a glance into those deep, dark eyes.

“I never said you were, darling,” the stranger kept his voice seductively low, but somehow, Roger understood perfectly, despite the loud music around. “So? Please, let me treat you... name?”

“Roger?”

“Then let me treat you, Roger,” the stranger gave the barman the money with an elegant nonchalance and smiled. “I’m Freddie, by the way.”

He stretched out his hand, and when Roger took it, still in that dazzled haze, he felt a shiver run down his spine, a sweet, arousing shiver. 

“You’re cold...,” he mumbled, the alcohol and sudden emotions making his speech a bit slurred.

“Maybe you’re just so hot,” Freddie teased. “Let’s drink on that, dear.”

Roger giggled and downed his shot in one gulp. Freddie ordered him two more.

“Oh, hey, hey, slow down,” Roger tried reason, “I really... sorts of appreciate it, yeah, but I... kind of had a head start so should probably... take it easy.”

“How come?” Freddie leaned a bit closer, cold fingertips touching Roger’s cheek. “After all, this is a special night,” he smiled, “and in my opinion, one needs to enjoy himself fully... or not at all.”

Roger glanced away, his heart racing. He was already drunk and not thinking clearly, unsure what to do, but he knew he didn’t want to disappoint.

Shakily, he took one of the shots and drank it. Then he giggled again. “You’ll have to c-carry me home from here or I j-just stay asleep on some porch.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Freddie assured him, and his hand softly brushed against the other man’s inner thigh. “You don’t care about the future. There’s nothing but now, so what about we just enjoy it together?” The air was getting hotter.

Roger only nodded, too busy staring wide-eyed into that beautiful face. Everything Freddie said made perfect sense, yes, of course. Perfectly reasonable.

The hand on his thigh gave a little squeeze and he squealed in a cheeky delight. “Freddie! You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will, darling,” Freddie purred. “Now... what cocktails do you like?”

Somehow, Roger found that really funny. “Cock-cocktails... you... might wanna change your mind about that, those are pretty pricey at this place.”

“You don’t worry about that,” Freddie stopped him. “I want this to be the best night of your life, Roger, so any way I can treat you. Ask anything.”

“Anything...?” Roger thought about it, squinting towards the blackboard with menu. His cheeks burned from the alcohol he’d drunk and had to hold himself with both hands to keep steady, but he couldn’t care less. “Uhm... Pina Colada?”

“Pina Colada it is,” Freddie smiled and gestured to the barman. “And make it double rum.”

Roger lit up upon getting the fancy, tall glass. “Wow... it has a tiny parasol, Freddie...,” he suddenly burst out laughing, “...a fucking tiny parasol... no, not fucking, it’s not fucking... and shit, I’m swearing in front of you, so fucking sorry...”

Freddie just laughed and pushed the cocktail closer to Roger. “Here, lovie. Special drink for a special date.”

Roger looked flustered. “Am I... your date? Like, you’re into blokes and stuff?”

“I’m very much in the stuff,” Freddie nodded with a wink. “In fact... why don’t you finish your pretty little drink... and we get out of here?”

“But Freddie...,” Roger whined around the plastic straw in his mouth, “... it’s the New Year’s Eve, nearly a midnight, we can’t just...”

“I was hoping for a sweet midnight kiss,” Freddie tilted his head to meet Roger’s eyes, and the drunk boy got helpless. He felt the rest of his will just fly far away, replaced by a sweet, dull, horny fog. He’d go anywhere, knowing Freddie would be at the end. 

“Please?”

Roger slowly blinked. “Yeah... sure. I... ah...,” he giggled, “...God, I’m drunk...”

“Yes, you are, lovie. Why don’t you finish the cocktail? It would be impolite to leave it.”

“TWO MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT!” somebody screamed, and the crowd roared in excitement. 

Roger stumbled on his feet and grabbed Freddie’s hand. “Come! You must come, with me, now!”

“But- why?”

“The fireworks! There’s gonna be fireworks outside, come!”

They weren’t the only ones with the idea, and soon they found themselves locked in a crowd in front of the club, staring to the sky.  
Roger forgot to put on his coat, or that he ever had a coat, but he was warmed up from the inside, drunk, and another wave of heat curled deep down in his belly, when a sneaky hand ran down the curve of his arse.

“F-Freddie,” Roger let out a shaky moan, “ah...”

Freddie slowly moved his attention towards the front and Roger felt himself leaning against him, getting hard.

“Come with me...”

TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! IT’S 1971 EVERYBODY!!!!

“Happy New Year!” Roger exclaimed and threw himself in Freddie’s arms. “Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year to you too, darling,” Freddie sighed, and squirmed with impatience. He was thirsty. “And...”

“Oh, look!” Roger vaguely pointed to the sky, which lit up in a myriad of colours. Deep bangs of fireworks announcing the new year resonated among the buildings, and a smell of sulphur filled the air.

Roger was laughing, not a care in the world, but gasped when Freddie’s hand got back in his trousers. Even he could feel the growing impatience.

“What do you say we celebrate on our own terms, lovie?” Freddie whispered, and the velvet of his voice just couldn’t be refused. “I want you... so, so much...”

“Yeah...,” Roger smiled and shivered under the touches, rock hard, “hell, yeah...” 

“Meet me inside, the corridor to the loos.”

“Yeah...” The lights up there made an amazing sight, it made it so hard to focus... 

The crowd was slowly flowing back inside, for more dancing and drinks. Roger stumbled over his feet. Freddie wanted something? Oh, right... the corridor to...

Roger grinned and turned to head back, when suddenly someone blocked his way.

“Oh! Hey, you, let me go!”

“You really shouldn’t,” the man said.

Roger looked up, but in the darkness and his hazy state he could see only a wild mane of curly hair. “Alright, who the hell do you... think you are?” The man’s appearance made him giggle. “You-you’re a poodle, buddy,” he doubled in a second fit of overwhelming giggles. “A poodle buddy...”

“If you say so...,” the stranger sighed. “Why don’t you just head home? You’ve had enough.”

Roger wondered about it, but his hazy brain seemed out of reach. He felt increasingly unsteady, all the shots and cocktail getting to him. Once again, he made an attempt to move towards the door, but suddenly the whole world swayed, and his legs gave up. 

Oh, for the love of..., Brian grumbled and picked the blonde boy up from the pavement, trying to ignore the blood pulsing in the vessels, or the nasty stench of smoke and alcohol, while at it.   
Roger just mumbled something and giggled, dangling in Brian’s arms like a ragdoll. In the freezing temperatures around, his lips and fingertips started to turn blue.

“Can you stand?” Brian asked, putting him back on his feet, but the answer was apparently no. Roger made two staggering steps, but only Brian’s quick action prevented him from falling hard.

“God, you’re completely wasted.” Brian grabbed Roger’s chin and turned it to him, trying to catch the boy’s attention. “Listen to me. It’s not safe here for you. You tell me where you live, and I take you home. Now.”

“Home?” Roger slurred. “Noooo...,” he leaned in with a cheeky wink. “I’ve got a shag, my good sir.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Brian took off his coat, wrapped Roger in it, nice and tight, and scooped him up again like a bride.

“Wheeeeeee!” Roger giggled. “Happy New Year!”

“Where do you live?” Brian asked again. “Or I swear to god I just leave you at some police station to sober up and I don’t care. So?”

Roger squinted his eyes, trying to focus on Brian’s face. “You’re soooo nice to me, so much taking care of me... That’s a soulmate thing, you know.” Suddenly he looked very serious. “It’s a connection.”

“Where do you live?”

“You wanna... have your way with me?” Roger winked, though his eyes were dropping. “Barnaby Street... 34, Hampstead... Mhmh.... I want a cock in me...”

“The maximum you’re getting is some Panadol,” Brian mumbled, “and you should be damn grateful.”

He wasn’t in a best mood. The never-ending noise of fireworks didn’t work well with his nerves, and with every minute of the lonely walk to Barnaby Street was Roger’s smell more and more tempting. Brian haven’t eaten. He was hungry. And Roger... oh... so warm, so pliant in his arms... He started to get all comfortable in the coat, which made the smell even more prominent.

Brian licked his half-protruded fangs. Roger’s bouts of numbness were regularly switching with phases of activity when he wriggled, laughed, and insisted on telling long, complicated stories.

He was genuinely relieved when they finally reached the Barnaby Street 34 – a small house with a modest front garden and nothing much on it. 

“Here we go.”

The cold wind was wailing through the narrow streets, rustling the hollow branches of trees. 

“Hey, you, wake up!” he shook Roger, getting a sleepy stir in response. From Roger’s babbling on the way he already learned the boy was a freshly graduated dentist and lived in the house he inherited from his parents alone. So – no use knocking. “Do you have keys with you somewhere?”

The short nap helped, and Roger seemed more coherent, hazily fumbling for his right pocket. Brian took the keys out for him.

“Listen...”

“Hm?”

“I can...,” Brian hesitated, “I can leave you on the doorstep or... if you invite me in...”

“Sure... come on in...,” Roger giggled. “I’m just gonna... stay where you put me.”

Brian quickly unlocked the door and with some difficulties got Roger in. The house wasn’t in the best state, Brian’s sensitive nose told him that much. There were some empty beer bottles lying around, discarded pieces of clothing, and the pile of dirty dishes in a sink had probably already developed its own culture. 

“You’re a rock’n’roll fan?” Brian looked over big posters of Jimi Hendrix and Mitch Mitchell in the bedroom.

Roger was now just drooling over his sleeve and got mercilessly tossed to the unmade bed. Brian’s lips tightened. The night was mostly over, he was hungry and had to head home, so he simply put a glass of water and some painkillers on the night stand.

“It was... nice meeting you,” Brian said his good byes, and once he realized he wouldn’t get any answer from the now snoring blond, he slipped away to the dark.

Amen Lane. Brian always thought the name of their street quite ironic. One hour was left till dawn when he closed the door and sighed in relief – now, only if he can get to his room quietly and unnotic-

“Oh, here he is, our dinner thief,” a known voice purred from a dark. 

Brian turned around, raising his hands in apology. “Look, Freddie, I’m so, so sorry, I just...”

“Shhh...,” Freddie quickly approached him and pressed a finger against his lips. Now, at the second look, he seemed amused more than mad. “It’s alright, darling,” he smiled. “I found myself a decent substitute, and honestly - I’m glad some food finally tickled your fancy.”

“Oh, yes, of course... sweet. He smelled really nice, he did,” Brian’s voice wavered a bit, and he honestly hated himself for not being a better liar.

Or at least good enough for Freddie, who just raised his eyebrow. “Indeed. And... where’s your coat, Bri?”

“My coat?” Brian quickly looked down, confused. “My, oh, shit, my coat, I left it with-”

“Roger. If that helps, his name was Roger.” Freddie sighed. “What did you do, dear? I can smell him from you, but... Oh, please, darling, don’t tell me... Again?”

Brian shuffled his feet. “...sorts of.”

Freddie clicked his tongue but decided to skip the eye-roll. “Have you eaten at all? You know what father will say?”

“I’m sorry...” Brian hunched, looking smaller, like a child found with his hand in a cookie jar. Freddie didn’t say more, only cupped his little brother’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss on the pale lips.

Faint taste of blood made Brian squirm in hunger.

“When he returns...,” he whispered, “please, don’t tell him, I... You know what he’d say.”

“But you know he’d feed you, otherwise how-”

“I can handle a hungry night better than him explaining to me again and again... Just this time. Please.”

Freddie’s dark eyes pierced the guilty face. “I won’t say anything, Bri, you have my word. But... please... take care. Think about it.”

“I will,” Brian nodded, and kissed Freddie in return. “I’ll turn in early, he’d know if I meet him. Good morning.”

“Good morning, love.”


	9. Chapter 9

The following day wasn’t one of the easiest for Roger. He’d slept through the whole morning only to wake up around noon with a massive hangover and an increasingly urgent wish to die. He noticed the glass of water on his bedside table and it made him think.

Who could... the hell...

Little pieces of the night were slowly coming together. Not to form the full picture perhaps, but they certainly gave him an idea.  
There was that guy at the bar... Roger remembered the shots and more shots and the cocktail and... that other guy... Carefully, he touched himself down there and found the whole area intact. So, he really just took him home. And... nothing seemed to be missing, he wasn’t even robbed.

With his head throbbing, Roger only managed to get rid of his clothes and crawl back into bed, determined to leave the issue of yesterday’s night for some friendlier hours.

“I’m sorry,” a soft whisper sounded like a rustle through the dark, “just... Could you, please? I mean, I don’t want to-”

“Holy shit!” Roger screamed and fumbled to get out of bed. “What the actual-”

“Please!” Brian lifted his hands, wide eyed, and stepped back from the bed. “I just wanted-“

“What the fuck!”

“- the coat?” Brian peeped, looking away.

Roger just stood frozen, trying to comprehend the situation. It had to be around 5 pm, the sun was already gone. And the poodle-haired guy who brought him home yesterday, well, he was now standing right there, in the middle of the bedroom. Speaking of which-

“I’m naked!” Roger exclaimed and quickly picked an old t-shirt from the floor to cover at least the most sensitive bits. “What the hell, man?”

Brian blinked. “I... didn’t do that.”

“I know - I did! What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“You invited me in,” Brian reminded, now looking a bit abashed, playing with his fingers, “so...”

“You...,” Roger kneaded his forehead, because this was getting out of control, “... you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Of course not! I had to go home, my father would... You... wanted me to stay?”

“No!”

Both men stared at each other quietly, trying to find the roots of the overall confusion.

“I’m not here to kill you,” Brian said.

Roger nodded. “Good to know.” It seemed the hangover headache went away only for this new one to appear. “So... could you, please, wait in the kitchen till I get dressed?” There was something about this poodle, his face, his eyes, something that kept Roger from kicking him out.

“So... here’s the coat,” Roger entered the kitchen ten minutes later, dressed and washed, and laid the heavy piece of garment over the backrest of one of the chairs. 

Brian was sitting at the table, examining Roger’s Walkman with way bigger curiosity than it deserved, but then looked up with a smile. “Thank you.”

“I thank you, I guess,” Roger scratched his head, “that guy yesterday got me seriously shitfaced.”

“That’s what he usually does,” Brian agreed. “Chats up someone at a bar, gets them drunk, and then drags them aside to... ehm...,” now he looked a bit unsure, “... to do what he wants.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea what he wanted,” Roger said and turned to his cupboard, “so, can I offer you something? There’s some coffee, tea, beer, water... I’ve got a bottle of wine somewhere, but it’s already been opened for a while, so it might not be a good idea-”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You sure?” Roger’s attentive blue eyes ran over Brian up and down. “Or... something to eat? I mean, no offence, but you don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” Brian assured him with a soft smile, “I just didn’t have enough blood lately, that’s all.”

“Low blood pressure? Yeah, that sucks,” Roger said in compassion. “Just let me know if you’re going to faint, my sister used to do that when she was like thirteen-fourteen. Grandma always said it’s because of not drinking enough.” 

“I suppose that’s the case, yes,” Brian nodded, glancing away. “But I really don’t want anything here.”

Roger chuckled. “You look like trying to persuade yourself. Let me know if you change your mind, I’m not gonna push. So... you know that guy? The one from the bar?” 

He took a fresh beer out of fridge and settled himself comfortably across the table from his unexpected guest. 

Brian nodded. “Yes, quite well. We have a history.”

“He’s your...?” Roger didn’t finish the sentence, after all, being gay was quite a touchy subject even with much closer friends. Despite that, he felt Brian wouldn’t take offence. He seemed to know exactly what Roger and the guy were up to and didn’t sound disgusted. 

“Freddie’s my brother.”

Oh. Roger chuckled and took a swig of his beer, strangely pleased. Yes, he nearly ended up shagging with Freddie in a bathroom corridor of that dingy bar, but somehow... this curly weirdo with tender voice and even softer eyes made his heart flutter. But no, let’s not get too excited, Roger, you don’t even know if he’s available. Or into it. But he did come back. Well, yes, for the coat. But who the hell would carry a drunk guy for more than thirty minutes and wrap him in a coat, if he weren’t interested in a said guy? And Roger knew he was handsome, exceptionally so. The problem was, Brian didn’t give away any sign of flirting whatsoever, he just... did stuff. Maybe he’s just nice. Really, really nice. Roger nervously twiddled his hand, twitchy like a teenager. Ugh, he didn’t miss that feeling.

“... and that’s probably why I like the Electric Ladyland the most, it’s terrible to think there won’t be anything new anymore.”

Roger woke up from his contemplations to realize Brian had been talking the whole time. “Uhm... sorry, from whom? I must’ve,” he laughed breathily, “just... spaced out. What did you say?”

“Jimi Hendrix,” Brian repeated, smiling. He didn’t seem really offended by the lack of attention. “You have his poster in your bedroom. You’re a rock’n’roll fan?”

“I used to play drums, actually,” Roger said, “in uni, we had a bit of a band, but then everyone graduated and the whole thing just sorts of... broke up,” he shrugged with a small chuckle. “You know how that goes. Friends for life and suddenly they disappear, and you never get to see them again.”

Brian swallowed, looking down. “Yes, I... know that feeling.”

“Tough times, huh?” Roger seemed to think for a moment. “Wait, I... I don’t even know your name! Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brian quickly stretched out his hand, “I’m Brian May.”

“Roger Taylor, nice to- oh, Jesus Christ!” Roger quickly pulled his hand back, staring wide eyed. “Where the hell do you keep those hands, a bucket of ice? What the fuck? No, I mean...” he quickly pulled back when he saw Brian’s embarrassed expression, “... I didn’t mean anything... Are you really alright? If you’re cold, I can-”

“I’m always this cold,” Brian smiled softly and pulled his hands back in his lap, “but thank you for the care, Roger.” He got up. “And I suppose... I should go, I came for the coat, I... I’m not really used to such long visits, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You’ve been here like fifteen minutes,” Roger frowned, “that’s your personal record?”

“It goes much quicker, usually. My father always wants to make our visits to houses as brief as possible, for our own good.”

“Your father sounds like a sociopath. No offence.” Roger stopped Brian in his tracks, not unlike Brian did him not even a day ago. “Listen...,” he sounded a bit nervous, “... won’t you stay for dinner?”

Brian stared at him for a moment, before letting out a giggle. “You want me to stay for dinner?”

Shit, did that sound too much like a date? Roger had to quickly improvise, not wanting to sound desperate.

“It doesn’t have to be a dinner, what about... a cinema? Do you like cinema?” Do you like cinema? Well done, Taylor, fucking well done, Roger thought, utterly annoyed by himself. He could already hear a polite “no, thank you” and see the lanky silhouette disappear in the night. Do you like cinema, I swear...

Brian lit up. “I love cinema!” His eyes shined. “Do you want to go?”

“Yes!” Roger quickly answered, almost too quickly. 

So it happened the two ended up in a sixteenth row of a half-empty cinema auditorium, watching a movie called “Love Story”, starring Ali MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal. Roger seriously contemplated if the spontaneous human combustion he’d read about in some magazine was a real thing and if it were possible to perform it on request. Like now. But it seemed the other boy enjoyed it. 

Brian’s eyes were glued to the screen where was the young heroine just dying of cancer in the arms of her lover.

Roger hesitantly offered his hand, and Brian took it. It felt as natural as breathing. That didn’t mean Roger began to like the movie any better though. Had they met a week earlier, he might’ve taken Brian to see Rio Lobo with John Wayne. But, well, whatever.

The movie seemed to be coming to an end. Roger slowly exhaled when the hero, Oliver, ran out of a hospital to meet his father.

_“Jenny’s dead,”_ Oliver wept.

Oh, dear, Roger thought.

_“Oliver, I’m sorry-”_

_“No! Love means never having to say you're sorry!”_ Oliver proclaimed, turned around and slowly walked away to a snowy field.

The end.

The lights went back on and people started to leave when Roger turned to his date (let’s call things for what they are, after all), and found Brian biting his lip, face showing a deep emotion.

Damn, maybe good thing this wasn’t Rio Lobo.

“Brian...?” Roger asked softly. “Can we...”

“Yes, yes, of course, I just...,” Brian stuttered, a bit embarrassed, “... I just never get used to how real they all look, I know it’s not real, but it feels real.”

“There, there...,” Roger awkwardly patted Brian’s shoulder. “What about we get some good dinner? What do you like?”

Brian shook his head. “I should go home,” he whispered. “Before they find out.”

“Let me guess, your father?” Roger rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry if you take this the wrong way, but he sounds like a right asshole. You deserve to live a little.”

“I wish...,” Brian started, but then swallowed the rest of the words, “... I’m sorry too. You get yourself a good dinner, you must be hungry.”

Roger tilted his head, looking sharply at his date’s face. “I can’t just leave you alone like that?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

“No!” Brian took a step back. “Absolutely, completely, under no circumstances, no!”

“What?” Roger started to get annoyed and put his hands on his hips. “Your father? Am I right? Now listen to me, you’re old enough to have some social life, and if that bastard has anything against that, I’ll punch him so hard he’ll be picking up his teeth from the floor for at least a week!”

“He’d rip your head off.”

“I wanna see that.”

“You would.”

“Brian, please...,” Roger put on his sad face, “on the way here you told me you’d built your own guitar. I was looking forward to seeing it. Please...”

“Alright, the air is clear...,” Brian slowly stepped into the empty house, holding Roger’s hand. “They must be both out, hopefully for the whole night.”

“New Year celebrations still going on, huh?” Roger smiled, curiously looking around. 

The house was old, but that wouldn’t be such a strange thing, London was full of old houses. This one though, this one looked like a living museum. Like they had never bought anything more modern than 1960. Everything was original or refurbished retro, like the house itself. The tangerine and fuchsia walls were right out of an era at least fifteen years gone, floral prints bold and the furniture sparse and simple. In the lobby sat an orange bowl of fruit and a collection of China with lace doilies. There were so many candles everywhere it surely meant a serious fire hazard, and windows were equipped with heavy velvet curtains, all of them shut. Roger thought that not even a speck of light would get in.

“Well? Do you like it?” Brian smiled.

Roger wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s very... Art Deco,” he said finally, “and a bit of... retro... and antique, Chippendale, Shabby Chic... cool. Really cool.”

“My room is upstairs. Come.”

Roger was honestly afraid what horrors of interior design await him there, but luckily, Brian’s room seemed fairly simple, timeless, full of books, sheets of music, and a telescope near the window. Just like all the windows he’d seen in this house, this had the same heavy draperies – and was shut.

“Would you mind letting some air in?” Roger asked. “Great room, but it feels like a tomb, no offence.”

Brian hesitated. “What time is it?”

“Five minutes to nine, why?”

“Alright, open it,” Brian avoided the previous question by picking up a guitar which was leaning against the wall. “And... meet Red Special.” 

Brian beamed in pride and Roger didn’t forget to show all the enthusiasm required – and didn’t even have to act, the instrument was truly beautiful.

“Are you a good player?” he smiled.

Brian gave him a teasing wink, visibly relaxing with the instrument in his hands. “I suppose I can’t be the judge of that. Do you want me to play?”

“Please.”

“And what? Do you have some favourites? Or something of mine?”

“You’ve got your songs?”

“Sure,” Brian leaned forward to the desk and handed him a small stock of sheets. “Do pick.”

Roger slowly leafed through. “White Queen? On such a breathless night as this, upon my brow the lightest kiss, I walked alone... hm, you’re depressing, man... And this? What’s this one about?”

Brian had a look at the sheet. “Oh, this, ehm... it’s called 39.”

“I can see that, but-”

“It’s a about time dilation,” Brian quickly explained, a bit nervous, “please, don’t laugh, it’s... an astronaut travels at near the speed of light. And because of the time dilation, he returns home a hundred years later. He has aged only a year, but his wife has long passed on as well as everyone he knew.”

“Where do you take this stuff?” Roger muttered, looking over the sheet.

Don't you hear my call, though you’re many years away, don't you hear me calling you? All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand. For my life still ahead, pity me...

Brian just smiled. “You might like this one more, it’s- oh, shit!” he gasped at the same moment his door opened wide.

“Oh, dear,” Freddie sighed and leaned against the doorframe, “I see you got your coat back, darling. With a little accessory.”

The mood in the room shifted, and Roger was glancing between the two brothers in a soft confusion. The reaction seemed a bit much.

“Hi, Freddie,” Roger waved a bit, “we’ve met yesterday.”

“Oh, I remember you, darling,” Freddie winked. “But to be honest, I didn’t expect to see you again... here,” he turned his attention back to Brian and the smile was gone. “Dear, you know I love you, I cherish you, I would do anything for you, but... please, please, tell me you took him here for the right reason.”

“He’s just visiting,” Brian got up. “That’s all, he came, and he’ll leave. Father doesn’t have to know.”

“This isn’t about John, Brimi!” Freddie raised his voice and spread his hands to emphasize whatever point he was making. “This is about us! About you, why can’t you see that! You don’t want me to have him, fine! You don’t want to have him yourself, I covered for you! I even told father you went to Kensington when you wanted to return for the damned coat, but this! He stinks all over the house, do you think you could ever hide that?”

“I what?” Roger interrupted, looking back at Brian. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“They can smell you,” Brian explained briefly and turned to Freddie, “why is it always you who gets to have fun? But I can’t?”

“Because I actually kill them afterwards, and even I don’t take them in the house!” Freddie snapped. “Brimi, darling, do you have any idea what would happen if someone looks for him and this would be the last place he’d be seen entering?”

“That’s why he’ll leave!” Brian insisted. “Freddie!”

“You kill people?” Roger exclaimed and stepped away from both brothers. “And you know about it?”

Brian waved his hands in panic. “No, no, Rog, let me explain!”

“Get your hands off me!”

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Well, we have to kill him before father comes and sees this. You’re in big enough trouble already.”

“How killing me would make it less of a trouble?” 

“Darling, please-“

“Roger, just-”

“You’re serial killers?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Roger snatched the heavy telescope from its stand and grabbed the narrow end, holding it like a club.

“Please, just don’t break it,” Brian mumbled.

“Yes, I’ll break it!” Roger said and his eyes gleamed in fury. “I’ll break this thing and your guitar is next!”

“We’re vampires!” Brian exclaimed. “Now, please, put it back!”

“You’re what?”

Freddie rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Brilliant. We’re vampires, darling,” he smiled kindly at Roger, “our whole family is. Look.” Softly, he reached to Brian and pulled his upper lip a bit aside, revealing a long fang. Brian slapped him away.

For a moment, nothing moved.

“Holy shit,” Roger stood frozen, just muttering. “Holy shit, holy shit... you kill people?”

“Yes, we do, dear.”

“You drink their blood?”

“Yes, we do. And Brian here should really get on with it,” Freddie glared at his brother. “And don’t try to look like you don’t want to, I can tell. You’ve been without blood for days, this must stop, for your own sake.”

Brian looked utterly frightened, sad and devastated. “Roger, I...”

Roger folded his arms on his chest, trying to breathe and stay calm, but none of those two met with much success.

“You’re... hungry?” he asked, and his voice sounded higher and quieter. “You’ll kill me?”

“I won’t,” Brian said and quickly stepped forward to stand by Roger’s side. “And you don’t get to decide-“

“Brian, if father learns that-”

“If I learn what, exactly?” the door opened again, and there was John. Cold grey eyes glared at the three men, one by one, and Roger couldn’t hide a shiver when they stopped on him. John’s lips tightened. “What is this thing doing in the house?”


	10. Chapter 10

Quietly, John asked everybody to move to the living room, and both vampires obeyed, as well as Roger. He didn’t really think about an escape, smart enough to realize there was no point to even try. Brian avoided the blue eyes, looking straight to the ground, following his father downstairs.

The living room looked like a strange combination of an old-fashioned spinster’s salon, with fluffy cushions, frills and dry flowers, and a sultan’s bedroom. And of course – all the windows had been safely barricaded.

Freddie sat Roger down in one of the tall armchairs, lit up few candles – for Roger’s sake, surely, as none of the vampires needed them to see in the dark - and made himself comfortable on the armrest. Roger turned around to thank him but nearly screamed when something brushed against his leg. A cat! Since when vampires have cats? There wasn’t just that one, soon another one appeared and another, and one more. The cats were now sitting at his feet, staring, and Roger hesitated if it was alright to pet them. Suddenly, the cat number one jumped straight onto his lap, curling into a soft purring ball.

“You’re warm,” Freddie said with a chuckle. “Little traitors.”

John took a place on the sofa, and propped his feet up, leaning his back against a little mountain of frilled cushions. It was quite a relaxed pose, in sharp contrast with his stern, motionless face. Somehow, he managed to look down on Brian who in fact towered above him, standing in a respectful distance in the middle of the room, waiting like a sheep for slaughter, pinned down by his father’s eyes.

Roger couldn’t but stare at the oldest vampire in fascination. He didn’t look older than Roger, maybe younger even, dressed in a quite simple outfit of jeans and button-up and yet... John controlled himself so perfectly, not even a blink gave away his thoughts. There was something ancient in those eyes, something... unreal. Roger could feel the little hairs at the back of his neck standing.

“So?” John finally broke the silence, looking at his younger son. “You brought a human to our house.”

Brian’s shoulders sank. “Yes, father.”

“Do I understand correctly that he knows about us?” John asked again, cold and calm. “About our state?”

Roger gulped. His own father used to yell and beat him when trouble occurred, and he was bracing himself for John to do the same, but this... this felt somehow even worse. Roger wanted to scream or laugh just to break the tension.

Brian nodded, biting his dry lips. “Yes, father.”

“May I ask why?”

Easy question, difficult answer.

“I wanted to show him the guitar,” Brian said simply, looking away.

For a moment, John only raised his eyebrows, and the tense silence grew. Then he got up, in one graceful move, and made few steps towards Brian. His face changed, it seemed almost kind, compassionate.

“Look at me, my sweet,” John asked softly, and Brian obeyed without question, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Please...,” he whispered, like a little mouse in front of a cobra, “please...”

John ran his fingers tenderly over his son’s cheek, and Brian leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in bliss.

Roger blinked, almost involuntarily glancing at Freddie in confusion. This wasn’t a scene he expected, at all, this was intimate, intense, slow, and sensual. He didn’t... how...

“There’s a bond between them, darling,” Freddie whispered, honestly smiling upon Roger’s expression. “Stronger than anything humanly possible. John is our sire, he took us to this life, and Brian... Brian’s still a little suckling.”

“A what?”

“A suckling. He doesn’t hunt on his own, not yet. He lives off John’s blood, and that binds them together even more, both ways,” Freddie smiled, looking fondly at the scene. “He’s adorable, isn’t he, our Brimi. He can’t resist it. Even for me it’s difficult from time to time.”

“Uh... yeah?” Roger mumbled, unsure what to say, staring at the scene in front of him. The vampire father and son stood so close to each other, exchanging soft touches and caresses. 

“Brian...,” John whispered, and Brian responded with a soft, needy whine, pushing himself close. “Do you understand why I want you to kill him? It’s not for me, my sweet, not for me, but you. I’m worried about you, you know that. This... this isn’t right. This isn’t natural, and we must be careful, do you understand? There’s no need for any sentiments, they’re not like us. We need their blood to stay alive, nothing more, nothing less. They’re to us what pigs are to them, my sweetheart, do you really need a pig for a friend?”

Brian stood silent, as if in a trance of sorts, until John took his hand and led him to sit on the sofa.

“Please, please, father, please,” Brian said, his whole body shaking like a leaf, “I’m so sorry, I’ll never... do this again, just... please...”

“I don’t like doing this,” John said, lifting his sired’s chin with his finger. “I can see you unhappy, and it breaks my heart. You like him, don’t you? You care about him.”

Brian nodded in quiet resignation, just letting John take him through this all. Roger’s blood boiled, seeing this drastic change of Brian from his quirky, lovely companion to a lifeless puppet of a murderous psycho. And of course, the insult didn’t help either.

“I know it hurts, my sweet love,” John whispered, “but that’s why it needs to be done. Everyone gets used to it, sooner or later, and you will too. This is a great opportunity, as well as a necessity. And one day, we look back and laugh about this, I promise.”

“Please, don’t make me,” Brian looked up, begging. It took all his strengths to disagree with his sire. He knew he was bad, he knew he was wrong and John right. His sire, so kind and patient... but he just couldn’t do it.

John took a moment to think, slowly pulling his sired in a firm embrace, and Brian let him, burying his face against his father’s neck.

Roger felt Freddie’s cold hand on his shoulder.

“I’d never force you,” John said at last, and let out a soft moan when Brian’s hands ran over his body. The sired pushed himself even closer, not caring about anything or anyone around, only his father. “We’ll do it when you’re ready, deal? You know I will always love you, my sweet Brian, and I’ll always be here for you. As long as you need.”

Brian let out a soft whimper.

“Hungry?” John asked with a soft smile, playing with Brian’s curls. “My silly little thing.”

“Please?” Brian tried. 

Just for a split second, John’s focus shifted to Freddie. “Take it out,” he ordered, and the grey stare didn’t even brush over Roger, “and take care of it.”

Roger felt Freddie’s strong cold arms pushing him up from the chair.

“Time to go, darling,” the vampire whispered, and held firmly against Roger’s weak attempt to escape. 

“No, I... you can’t...,” Roger babbled, his whole body including legs frozen in shock. They were going to kill him. He was going to die. This very hour. This minute. 

Freddie lost his patience with the victim and just scooped him up in his arms, not unlike Brian did just the day before, and headed out of the room. Roger could only turn his head and see Brian with his fangs fully out, biting down on John’s throat, both vampires moaning in ecstasy. Then Freddie banged the door shut.

It started snowing outside, again, but Roger wasn’t sure if he shivered for the cold or something else entirely. But no. He was Roger Meddows Taylor and he wasn’t going to die like a sissy. This and myriad of other confused thoughts just whirled through his mind.

“Well?” he turned to Freddie, his voice a bit higher than usual. “You can finish what you started in the bar.”

Freddie giggled. “The fucking or the killing, which one, dear?” 

“Look,” Roger frowned, his voice increasingly shaky, “I know you don’t r-really have to care, but I’m tr-trying sorts of to keep my d-dignity here, so-“

“Calm down. I’m not going to kill you.”

Roger looked up in surprise. “What?”

Freddie leaned towards him, speaking quietly. “Now listen to me, very carefully. This evening never happened. You go home, eat some food, and go to bed. And forget. Next time you get in our way... John won’t be so lenient. Leave Brian alone.” 

Roger didn’t like this but understood this was the only option. “Yeah, so... bye,” he stuttered and shakily walked out on the street, towards his home, his steps somehow getting longer and faster, and the last part of the journey he basically ran.  
Finally, home. 

Freddie lingered on the front yard for a while, watching the snowflakes falling from the sky. When he focused, he could hear a silent tap every time a new one touched the ground. He always enjoyed winters, and fondly remembered the one two years ago when he, John and Brian went together to Norway, to watch the polar lights. Soul of an artist was touched by the magic of the sight, and Brian... his little brother had been so excited. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to stay in London this winter, the city always held something depressing. Ever since... the very beginning.

Soft sound of steps woke Freddie up from his deep thoughts, and a light hand touched his shoulder.

“Is he gone?” John asked, also looking at the snow.

Freddie nodded. “He is.”

John stood silent for a moment, before he whispered: “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“Does it matter?” Freddie turned to his father. “He’s gone and he’s never coming back. And you know that if we killed him... Brian would’ve never forgiven that.”

“I suppose you’re right,” John sighed. Now that they were alone, Freddie noticed he looked tired and sad. “What am I going to do with him?”

Softly, Freddie took John’s hand. “How is he?”

“Still on the sofa,” John replied. “He must’ve been starving for days, and now drank his fill. No wonder he’s exhausted.”

Several droplets of thick dark blood were slowly drying on the side of John’s neck, even though the wound had been healed already. Freddie leaned in and licked them away. Under his tongue, he could feel John’s scars, left by two sets of hungry teeth, his and Brian’s.

“Still good?” John smiled, watching his older sired lick his lips.

“It brings back memories,” Freddie said, and couldn’t help a whine when John bit his finger, so hard it started to bleed, and teasingly offered it for Freddie to lick. And Freddie took the treat eagerly, until the stream stopped, and he let it go with a kiss. “Do you remember?” he smiled, black eyes loving and silky. “The first time you fed me?”

John chuckled. “I’m surprised you remember. My hungry, needy, little suckling. It was... as if you already knew what to do.”

“I knew what I wanted,” Freddie said, “and I knew I had to take it.”

“You ripped my clothes off,” John reminisced, amusement in his voice evident, “my little one, with you fangs out, and the way you looked at me... so hungry.”

“And you fucked me while I fed, right in that cellar,” Freddie grinned, and his fingers softly traced John’s arm, “and I’ve never felt anything quite like it, I just... lost myself in the ecstasy. There was you, and me.... and the infinite.”

“I thought you would be scared...”

“I love you, John,” Freddie’s eyes sparkled in an eager honesty, “and I would follow you anywhere, anytime, to any shape or form that would ensure I’m with you.” 

“You got quite poetic tonight,” John smiled through his tiredness. Feeding a hungry new-born was never an easy business, especially as Brian was already behind that stage. “What brought it up?”

“I just wanted you to know,” Freddie said. “I know all this trouble around Brian...”

“Why can’t we make him happy?” John suddenly exclaimed and kicked a stone from the ground so hard it flew on the opposite side of the street. “What are we doing wrong, Freddie, what am I doing... What do I do, what is there to do?”

“Nothing,” Freddie said calmly, and trying to give comfort. He hated to see anyone distressed. “Everybody has their own pace, and Bri’s just a little slower. But he’ll get there, I know he will.”

“I feel like I can’t reach him.”

“He loves us, and we love him, that’s all that matters.”

“He got me hungry,” John grumbled. “I need to...” 

Freddie nodded. “If you give me a sec, I check on Brimi. Then we go.”

Brian was lying on the sofa, motionless, staring into nothing. He felt empty, despite being actually full of John’s blood, which made him slightly nauseous. 

John was right, it couldn’t go on like that anymore, he was no longer a new-born. The blood of his sire used to be perfect, but as Brian got older... it just wouldn’t do. It was like drinking a caramelised, condensed milk every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It made him heavy, sluggish, and uncomfortable. He needed something else, he craved it, and he knew very damn well what it was. 

But he couldn’t, just... couldn’t. He hated himself to be such a useless, good-for-nothing creature, and John and Freddie having no issue with their own burden didn’t help the matters either.

This life was hell. This life... But what other options were there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampires in this AU cannot live out of blood they don't drink directly from a human (so no blood bags or cups or anything), and the bite is poisonous. There is no way for a vampire to feed and not kill the victim. It will be talked about and explained in future chapters.


	11. Chapter 11

Surprisingly white January of that year was followed by a damp February. Temperatures weren’t low enough to turn the annoying drizzle into snow, but that didn’t stop omnipresent puddles from hiding treacherous remnants of ice to slip on.

Roger continued his life and realized it was surprisingly easy to write off the whole night in the vampires’ lair as a nightmare. And if he thought about Brian a little bit more than would be appropriate... well, there was still the evening in cinema, no need to remember that follow-up about Brian having fangs, inverted sleep-schedule and a thing for blood.  
Actually, Roger felt like working on an autopilot, and found himself lurking around the cinema after sunset at least twice a week. A guy can have million reasons to do that, or not? It doesn’t have to mean he hopes to see a certain mop of curls in the crowd. He said he loved cinema... 

Despite that, Roger didn’t feel in the least tempted to break the promise he gave Freddie and return to the Vamp Street, as he liked to call it, no, thank you very much. There’s a difference between a possible teeeny-tiny crush and a suicide. 

By the way, he banned himself visiting any clubs, permanently, and started to spend an unhealthy amount of time going through the black chronicle part of the newspaper, searching for mysterious deaths. But it seemed the vampires knew their business well, nothing ever popped up. 

Another 14th of February, another lonely Valentine’s Day. Roger didn’t really have any long-term relationship for the last.... eh... five years. Usually, he solved it by one-night-stands or girls (or boys) for a maximum of two weeks of dating. This year though he didn’t feel like going out with random strangers, especially after sunset, so he opted for a lonely evening with few bottles of beer and Electric Ladyland.

It was around ten pm when Roger finished his third beer and felt a little hazy. His throat nearly ached from the number of cigarettes he’d already smoked. No, he won’t go to bed yet. Decisively, he flipped the record from Voodoo Chile to Little Miss Strange.

_No one knows where she comes from, maybe she's a devil in disguise. I can tell by looking in her eyes, little miss strange..._

Somebody knocked on the door, quickly and urgently. Roger frowned. None of his friends rang that they’d drop by and...

“Who is it?” he called.

“It’s.... Brian.” 

Roger’s heart stopped. 

“You know, the one... the...”

“I remember you!” Roger pressed his forehead against the door. His heart woke up again, now running twice as fast. “Why the hell are you- Brian, please, please, go away, I just-“ The rant was interrupted by a soft thud from outside. “Brian?” Roger called. “Brian, are you there, say something!” Nothing.

He waited for a long, quiet moment, then sent a prayer to heaven and slowly opened the door.

There was Brian, lying motionlessly on the ground, his eyes half-closed. Alone.

“Brian!” Roger quickly kneeled and shook his shoulders, not really sure what to do with a collapsed undead.

Brian’s eyes fluttered open. “Please...,” he whispered, and his longing stare held a desperate little flame, “let me in.”

Was this really happening? Just when he thought he was out. 

“I’m gonna die,” Roger thought glumly when dragging Brian over his threshold. “This time I’m really gonna fucking die. I’m fucking asking for it.”

Few minutes later was Brian once again more or less holding together, seated in Roger’s kitchen. As far as Roger could assess, he looked awful. Vampires had always been cold and pale, naturally, but Brian seemed ashen, his cheeks sunken in, and eyes bleary. He looked... well, not older, but weaker and frail. His movements lost their grace, being shaky and fitful.

“I... I’d offer you some water,” Roger hesitated, “but eh... you probably...?”

Brian chuckled. “I’m good, thank you.”

“You don’t look that good. Are you sick or something?”

“No, I’m... hungry,” Brian quietly admitted, glancing away, “God, so.... ah, so much...”

Roger swallowed, fighting the urge to panic and run away. “Well?” he summoned his usual suave approach. “I’m so glad you decided to drop by. I usually have my pantry stocked with people begging to be eaten.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, Roger.” Brian shook his head. “I swear.”

“Then why are you here, what happened?”

It seemed it wasn’t easy for Brian to talk about it, but just when Roger wanted to dismiss the question claiming it didn’t matter, Brian said: “I had a row... with John. And this is the only place where he can’t get to me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Roger already felt a wave of anger. He knew damn well how it felt when parents tyrannised their children. And Freddie said that’s what Brian was, for a vampire at least, a child. And he deserved better.

But Brian shook his head. “He would never hurt me,” he whispered, “and he thinks he’s being helpful. That kind of makes the whole thing even worse. I need to get away, from them, to... think.”

“What happened?” 

“Since the night you’ve been at our place, I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Brian admitted, watching his restless pale fingers while avoiding Roger’s eyes, “and I knew you were still out there somewhere and... I missed you... and just started seeing you everywhere. And in everyone. Every time Freddie or John took someone aside to... do what they do... it occurred to me, that person... lives and... loves and maybe is even loved by someone in return and... we’re going to take that from him. And why?”

“To keep yourself alive?” Roger guessed.

Brian smiled unhappily. “That’s the idea, I guess. But a vampire needs to feed preferably... once in three days. Now, take me, I’ve been around since the first world war. Do you realize how many...,” his breath hitched, “many hundred... And both Freddie and John are older than me.”

“But they said you drank from John!”

“John kills them for me, or I do, doesn’t matter,” Brian said, his face empty. “He needs to eat twice as much to sustain a suckling and thinks I don’t realize. And three weeks ago... I refused to do it any longer. I couldn’t. They were taking me on hunts with them, but... I couldn’t do it. John told me to stay at home, that he would feed me as much as I wanted, but... that was even worse, because I knew he killed someone extra and... who was that someone? Or what would he become, given a chance?” He sighed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. John didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all. He lost his temper and screamed that since I’ve decided to be against all reason, I can just go to my room and pity myself because he’s out. So, I did. But after a while, every day he came and tried to talk me back into it... and Freddie did too... I just need a quiet place. For a couple of days, Roger, please,” Brian looked up, his eyes begging, “I couldn’t stay there.”

In the long moment that followed Roger bit his lip, thinking. Brian’s confession shook him right to the core, and he understood, he really did but...

“I’ve been in war, you know,” Brian said. “And it was hell, but at least I killed not to be killed and to protect my country. These killings have no such excuse. If I kill, I get to live a bit longer. One by one by one by one. How many lives is my life worth? That many? For sure? Certainly not.”

“Alright,” Roger tapped on the table and got up. “Yeah, alright. We can do this.” He nodded for himself and started pacing around the tiny kitchen, just few steps there and back, trying to hide the emotions and think.

“Do this?” Brian slowly looked up. “Do what? I just...”

“There must be another way for you to get blood without killing,” Roger spread his arms, “right? So... animals? Can you eat animals?”

Brian blinked. “No, I can’t. It needs to be a human.”

“Alrighty.... eh... can’t you drink just a little, so the person stays alive?” Roger glanced at him with a hope. “Some might even agree to it.”

“Our bite kills,” Brian flatly cooled his enthusiasm. “And believe me, I saw enough to know that to die of blood loss is much more merciful than death by our venom. Freddie says it feels like your blood is boiling and burning you from inside while you find yourself paralysed and unable to scream, run or even move... That’s what happened to him.”

“He was poisoned by a vampire? By John?”

“By John,” Brian nodded. “And John turned him shortly afterwards. It was in... 16th century, I think, I can’t remember which year exactly. Not good with dates.” His lips moved in faint smile.

“So – no biting,” Roger concluded. “What about drinking from a cup or... those blood bags in a hospital, or just...”

“No.”

Roger put his hands on his hips. “You know, you’re not exactly helpful here.”

“Don’t you think if anything like that was possible, I would’ve done it already?” Brian exclaimed, stiffly spreading his arms to emphasize the point. He looked close to tears. “There is no way!”

“Why?” Roger demanded. “Blood is blood, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t about blood!”

Roger frowned for a short, quiet moment. “I’m confused here. Not about blood? Then what the hell are we talking about the whole time?”

Brian sighed, looking tired. “It is and it isn’t,” he said. “But first of all... you can’t think of us... think of vampires... the way you do. All the legends and stories were repeated so much over and over and over that they lost the point in the process. And you people have no idea.”

“And...,” Roger almost feared to ask, but asked anyway, “...what is the truth? What should I think of you?”

“That I’m a monster,” Brian said, hugging his middle and looking away, “just not the kind you imagine. We’re not a species, something you can pin down, draw into biology books and accept by a pure logic, believe me, I tried. Being one of us, a vampire... it’s not a different form of life, it is a curse, Roger.” Brian shook his head. “I can’t explain it more, because I don’t know, nobody does. Have you ever read the Bible? It says that blood is life. And it’s the life we need to take from blood, the life we take with it. John says that blood by itself can dim the craving, at least for a short time, but without the life taken, it’s not what feeds us.”

Roger listened and then stood silent, trying to take it all in. Slowly, he sat back to the table.

“So... you either kill... or starve?” he asked quietly, getting a nod in return. “But then – what can you do? How long have you been without food?”

“Now... around three weeks.”

Roger bit his lip to stop the stupid “three weeks?” exclamation. “No wonder you look like shit, fainting on people’s doorsteps,” he said instead, not unkindly. “My vampire scarecrow.”

“And about the other question...,” Brian’s face tightened in despair, “I don’t know, Roger. I don’t know... But I’m so hungry, so... I feel my strengths leaving me, I can’t even think, my head is hazy, but the life... the life I live comes with a price I can’t and don’t want to pay.”

“But you’ll die!” Roger exclaimed. “You have to-”

“You are telling me to go and kill people? You?” Brian snapped and got up. “If I knew I would be hearing the same speech from you as from John and Freddie, I wouldn’t even-” He was ready to leave but made not even two steps forward before he swayed and only thanks to Roger’s quick reflexes didn’t hit the floor.

“Brian! Are you-“

“I-I’m good, I’m alright...” His head was spinning, and his whole body ached, god, so much. As a vampire he grew unaccustomed to physical pain but now he felt it with every passing day more and more.

“Sit down here. Come.” Roger guided him to the nearest chair. “You’re not going to leave, and I won’t leave you. Just tell me what you need.” His hand stayed on Brian’s shoulder, feeling the coolness and a soft shiver.

“I don’t want to disturb your life more than I did already,” Brian said, staring blankly at the pattern on the table. “Just let me stay in some place without sun, cellar or something-”

“Nonsense,” Roger didn’t even let him finish the thought, “I refuse to live in the kind of house that has its own vampire in a cellar. What is this, Addams family? You’re my friend.”

Brian looked up, eyes wide in surprise. “I’m what?”

“You’re a turnip head,” Roger sighed. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bedroom, you need to lie down. There’s a window but we can cover it or nail some boards over it or whatever.”

“But where will you sleep?” Brian protested. “Roger!”

“On a sofa?” Roger shrugged. “On the floor? I don’t care. The mattress’s squeaky anyway, driving me nuts. Now, can you get up?”

Brian managed even without help and followed Roger to the bedroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t... ehh... clean up,” Roger mumbled glancing around the flung clothes, empty mugs and a disorganised pile of car magazines.

“It’s beautiful,” Brian smiled and stiffly sat down on the bed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need.” Roger glanced out of the window and then decisively drew the curtains. “For now. And is there anything I can...?”

“Nothing more, really,” Brian said quickly, “I’m really sorry I had to ask this of you. You have so many other things to do.”

“Actually,” Roger chuckled, “I was just getting myself drunk to the immortal sound of Hendrix when you appeared. We can get back to that, if you want.”

Brian nodded, smiling, and Roger quickly disappeared to get his beer and turn the record player back on.

_Little miss strange came into my parlor. I don't know just what to ask her, I don't remember what we did after..._  
_Little miss strange..._  
_Little miss strange..._

“Alright,” Roger waltzed back into the bedroom, “move over, mister.”

Brian shifted himself so Roger could lie down comfortably by his side.

“You can’t drink the beer this way.”

“You bet?” Roger winked. “Just watch.” Still laid on his back, he just opened his mouth and poured the beer in directly from the bottle he held in arm-length distance. And finished it. “See? I’m awesome.”

Brian snorted. “Well, that was properly awful.” But somehow, he couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’ll get used to it, miss Westenra. Welcome to maison d’Taylor.” 

_Little miss strange came out of the darkness. Walked across my head, I stood beneath the light. I'm talkin' 'bout the dream I had the other night._  
_Little miss strange..._

Brian shook him awake around three in the morning. Now, Roger could hear it too, the relentless soft knocking at the door.  
Three in the morning, for fuck’s sake.

Roger opened the door, wrapped in his bathrobe “You know,” he said sternly, “there are certain hours considered more appropriate for visits. Like... literally any other.”

The two vampires at his doorstep exchanged looks.

“Brian’s here,” John said, calm, but inside fuming with anger. “Let us in.”

“Ehhhh... no,” Roger decided quickly, looking at the old vampire with a soft hint of glee. "Sorry."

“Please,” Freddie tried, “we need to talk to him, just that, let us in.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to any of you,” Roger shrugged, “and since he’s my friend and you’re not...”

“Do you even realize what you’re doing?” John snapped. “Have you thought about it at all? We’re his family, he belongs to us, we need to take care of him, not you.”

“He told me everything,” Roger said, and the ice in his tone could be nearly compared to John’s. “He wants to be here, not there, and he wants me around, not you. I think that kind of sums us the situation. You can do whatever you want, but until he asks me to let you in, I won’t.”

John made a step forward, as far as he could go, and his glare could kill. “You’re nothing but a pathetic miserable scum,” he hissed. “And remember, Roger Taylor, we’re not going anywhere. We’ll be waiting. And if you dare to make even one step out of this house, I’ll tear you apart, limb by limb, slowly, and I will enjoy it.”

“So, I have only the whole day to roam around outside?” Roger raised an eyebrow. “Consider me devastated. And besides, if you kill me – then good luck getting the invitation in.”

“You think this is a big great fun, don’t you?” John stepped back to Freddie’s side. “But I will not, not let you, or anyone like you, take my son away from me! That I swear.”

“There’s an invitation,” Roger rested his hand on the door handle, “I most cordially invite you to go fuck yourselves. Don’t come back until anyone actually wants you here. It might take a while. Good night, gentlemen.”

And then he banged the door shut.


	12. Chapter 12

Roger didn’t think about what he was doing. That’s how he found himself harbouring a vampire on a hunger strike while being followed by said vampire’s angry family in the first place.

He decided to do what he always did – he stopped planning and just went with it, solving problems as they occurred. And as always, to everybody’s surprise, it worked. He wasn’t dead yet. The downside was, that.... him not being dead seemed to be the only positive to point out.

It’s been another two weeks. Roger didn’t expect Brian to get any better, but... the way he could only watch him getting worse was scary. Day by day was Brian’s face greyer, more sunken, wasted and less human. Despite still looking young, he reminded of the old men Roger saw in the garden of the retirement home in the neighbourhood. Just sitting around or shuffling from place to place, hunched, pained, stiff and fragile. 

Roger asked for a sick-leave so he could take care of him, but in fact, there wasn’t much he could do. Brian didn’t need to wash, drink, take medicine, nothing what could give Roger the false sense of helping. Maybe that’s why he insisted on Brian changing from daily clothes to pyjamas and back again. Not really Brian, but he needed that. They spent days mostly sleeping, snuggled together on Roger’s bed, and nights chatting, playing chess or listening to Roger’s limited stash of vinyls. 

And the whole time, Roger was painfully aware of the dark figures standing outside.

Week three. Brian couldn’t get out of bed anymore, and that’s when he agreed to let Freddie in. He had to solemnly swear not to hurt Roger, as per Brian’s demand, and not force anything onto Brian, which was Roger’s condition.

But honestly, maybe all the promises were needless, because when Freddie saw his younger brother in such pitiful state, he paid attention to no one and nothing else. 

“Oh, my poor darling,” he whispered and sat on the edge of Brian’s bed, softly touching his face, “my poor stubborn darling...”

Brian stirred and pressed a fist over his own stomach, as if hoping to make the hunger go away. His eyes burned darkly deep in their sockets and long fangs protruded over his pale lips, as if the tortured body hoped a victim would get impaled just by accident, giving the blood and death Brian so desperately needed. Freddie pretended not to notice.

“Nice of you to show up...,” Brian smiled weakly, “...nice and.... ah, so... happy to see you.”

“I would’ve come earlier.” 

“I know...”

“Please, Brimi...,” Freddie leaned in, “I promised I wouldn’t push you and I won’t but... is there anything I can do? Just name it,” he slowly touched his brother’s face and moved stray curls out of there, “it’s killing me to see you like this, darling.”

At first, Brian didn’t react, just looking at his brother with nothing but love in his eyes. Then, he shook his head.

“You’ve done the best you could, Freddie,” he whispered with a strange serenity, “this isn’t your fault. It’s my choice, you know. Out of all the bad options, this is the one that feels least terrifying. I’m not like you. Not saying I’m better, to be honest... I wish I could do what you do and be what you and father deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” Freddie took Brian’s hand and leaned even closer, smiling, “we wouldn’t have you any different. Maybe happier. But we love you, we do, and we always will.”

Brian’s face contorted in kind of half-smile. “Is father still angry at me?”

“He was never angry at you, lovie.” After a short hesitation, Freddie added: “He misses you a great deal.” His dark eyes seemed anxious about what his brother’s reaction would be.

“I miss him too,” Brian looked away, his voice high and strangled. “I wish he could be here, just... be here. But he would try to solve this, he would... make me... and I know I wouldn’t refuse. And how could I even live with myself after that? It’s now or never, Freddie, do you understand?”

“And if he won’t do that?” Freddie shifted himself on the edge of the bed. “Brimi, he only wants to see you, nothing more.”

“Does he still want to hurt Roger?” Brian asked. Silence that followed was enough of an answer. “Then, he can’t go in.”

Anxiously, Freddie watched how Brian’s face strained. “What about we take you out, darling?” he suggested. “You meet with John, and then come back, he won’t stop you. And your little intimate acquaintance can stay safely in.”

“Roger’s not-”

“So?”

Brian looked up to his brother and whispered: “I can’t... walk.”

John thought he was dreaming when the door he hypnotised for so many days finally opened, and Freddie walked out with Brian in his arms. Roger watched the scene anxiously from the door, a magazine still in his hand.

The conditions were clear.

“Freddie... put me down,” Brian asked quietly, and Freddie gently complied, lowering him feet first. 

John saw red yet couldn’t move from his spot, frozen. He had smelled his sired from inside for weeks, all the suffering, pain and deprivation, but never in his darkest dreams he would imagine his son in such sorry state.

Grey eyes glistened with hatred when he shot Roger a glare, at the same time as Brian decided to take two or three shaky steps.

“Brian!” John gasped and leaped forward just in time to catch his son in his arms. “Shh... baby, my sweet, it’s alright, it’s alright, my sweet...” 

Brian found his lost balance and stepped back, staring at John with a strange guilt in his eyes. 

“I missed you so much,” John whispered, “so much, baby... I’m so sorry...”

“I’m sorry too,” Brian said, and Roger was alarmed, watching the hazel eyes get the same dreamy expression as back then in Vamp Street. 

John slowly touched his sired’s arm and pulled him in a tight embrace. Brian either didn’t want to struggle or didn’t have the strength to.

“Why are you doing this, my sweet,” John sighed and finally let Brian go. “Just... why?”

Brian looked down. “You know why. Those people don’t deserve to die just so I can live.”

“True, life isn’t fair,” John said, and some of his usual sternness came back. Roger realized it sooner than Freddie. “But I hope you understand this solves nothing. People die. And we’re hardly the main reason for it. They keep killing each other like rats in a small pen, millions of them die every day. What difference do we make? And what difference would you make?”

“Only to see me, huh?” Brian’s sharp stare met John. “I could’ve expected this.”

“I’m trying to make you see reason, please-”

“Keep your reason, John!” Brian exclaimed, his eyes wide in despair. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“Why? Because you fear that if you do, it’ll make some actual sense?” John made a quick step forward. “Brian, I beseech you, listen to me! You’re not them, you’re not like them, they’re further-“

“-from me than pigs from them,” Brian frowned. “You repeat yourself. Now... I’m touched you missed me but keep your arguments and leave me alone.”

“I gave you this life!”

“So you own it?”

“You can’t hide forever, Brian,” John said, calm and controlled. “I’ll be around. Always. Constantly. Day will come when you call for me, to save you, to feed you, to love you, my sweet little one... and I will. I’ll give you whatever you want, Brimi, please. I’ll give you Roger if you want!”

Brian’s face stiffened. “Give me... Roger?”

John eagerly nodded. “I can give him to you, I can turn him for you. There’s no need to be attached to humans anymore if he-”

“No!” That came from both Brian and Freddie, who looked at each other in worry.

“But...,” John blinked. “He can...”

“I’m still here,” Roger scowled. “And I put a stake through you if you try, you old bastard.”

“You still don’t understand it, John, do you?” Brian’s face twitched. “This isn’t about Roger! It’s about me, you know, because I didn’t choose this life, you didn’t even give it to me, you forced it to me without even asking! Did it even occur to you that some of us might be against the thirst for blood, the darkness, the lives lost under our hands! Just because you have a heart of stone doesn’t mean everybody has!”

“Brian!” John stepped closer. “I swear I want the best for you, you and Freddie, only the best!”

“No, you want us to be coldblooded killers without a speck of compassion, just as yourself!” Brian spitted the words out, each of them darted to John’s motionless face. “If only you let me die in that hospital! Not this! I bet you were all thrilled when you became a vampire, oh, so much killing, so much fun! You’re a monster!”

“Shut up!” 

In the long silence that followed, John just froze on the spot, staring at his younger sired with a cryptic, unreadable expression. 

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I am a monster. That’s why you suffer, and I don’t. Go and rot as you see fit, don’t let me keep you.”

Freddie wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders, slowly led him back into the house and Roger closed the door. Freddie carefully carried Brian back to bed.

Roger didn’t want to think bout that foul taste the whole conversation left on his palate. He wanted to get away, away from this whole situation, but found himself already too entangled.  
There was only one thing he could do.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?”

John sharply turned around at the sound of the voice. Roger was walking over the garden right towards him. Alone. 

“That’s a very, very stupid thing you just did,” John commented and turned away with a sigh. “But I suppose not the first.”

Roger only chuckled, and leaned against the wall of his house, right next to the vampire. “Would you mind if I smoke? Brian doesn’t let me do it inside, and after what you two just showed, I really need one.”

“Roger, I’ve been through the middle ages, I’m used to smells worse than yours.”

“Hm, now I’m flattered,” Roger rolled his eyes but lit the cigarette anyway. “And... you didn’t answer my question, though... there’s not much need.”

“That I wouldn’t hurt you?” John raised an eyebrow. “I still can. And believe me, I’d love to.”

“But you won’t.”

“Because?” John smirked.

Roger inhaled and let out a little cloud of smoke before he gave an answer. “Because you depend on Brian and Freddie, more than they ever depended on you. They maybe can’t see it, but really, it’s obvious. Brian won’t return but you fight for Freddie. And he let me live... and now, when I allowed him in my house, he’s my friend. You kill me – and you really screw up.”

“I wouldn’t put so much faith in my self-control,” John finally turned to him and his stare felt cold as ice. “But you’re right, I won’t kill you. I’m undead, not unreasonable. All I have to do is wait. And I have them both back, you’ll see. Time heals everything. Even you it will heal, like an annoying little parasite. Brian will need me.”

“Brian needs you now.”

John laughed, but with almost palpable bitterness. “Does he? Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Fucking hell, are you his father or not?” Roger nearly stomped his feet. “Or is it the killing that gives you all guys this emotional constipation? I’m with him, you know, every day, I watch him get worse and worse, and he sees it too, and he’s fucking scared! And who could blame him!”

“There’s easy remedy for that,” John said simply. “It’s his fault. He’ll get around eventually, he just chose the painful way. It’ll never be too late for that.”

“He’s dying, John, and that’ll be the literal definition of too late.”

“Oh?” John laughed softly and leaned more against the wall, watching the clouded winter sky. “I assure you, he’s not going to die.”

Roger frowned, slowly drawing the cigarette from his lips. “What do you mean? That he changes his mind?”

“There are ways to kill a vampire,” John said, crossing arms over his chest, “of course there are. But this isn’t one of them. Without a kill, without drinking their blood, or without his sire to do it for him, Brian will get weaker and weaker, fragile, every waking hour a torture. Soon, he won’t move. He won’t talk. Slowly, he shrinks into an old, ugly corpse. But he’ll live. Aware of every single minute of it. A hell of pain and loneliness without salvation, forever. It’s not death I want to protect him from, Roger.”

“And he knows?” Roger’s eyes widened when he took several seconds to properly imagine the ugly truth. “If he doesn’t know-”

“He knows!” John laughed again, but this time it sounded a bit hysterical. “Of course, he knows! Didn’t he ask you to cover your windows? Didn’t he ask you to hide him? If he wanted to die, why would he ask that? He doesn’t want to die! That’s why I changed him, so many years ago, I knew he wanted to live! And he still wants to, but he’ll rather take this- this- state than... accept what he is. It’s easy to start writing a new chapter, when you try hard enough but he never learned.”

Roger gulped. “Isn’t there a way... any other way?”

“There’s no other way.”

There was a long silence between them, interrupted only by muffled sounds of a night London. Then John slowly hid his face in his hands, and when he spoke, his voice sounded small.

“I can hear him, you know,” he whispered. “I can... feel how hungry he is, how desperate, I... I can’t bear it, just can’t. I promised to take care of him, always, and now...”

“He doesn’t want that kind of protection,” Roger reminded. “Even if he chose pain and... mummification alive... it’s still his choice.”

“Please, let me in... I’ll make him drink, I’ll make him good...”

“I can’t betray him like that.”

“And who’s the monster now!” John shrieked and suddenly Roger felt a cold hand around his throat and a sharp pain in his shoulder when the vampire threw him on the ground. “Still me? Still me?”

Roger clenched his teeth with a cry, when suddenly, the blow he expected never came. Instead, he heard a soft crack.

Freddie pressed John against the wall. His furious sire pushed back, and the air was suddenly filled with hissing and screeching as the two vampires threw themselves into one another. Roger felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and back from the fall, but still managed to crawl away from the danger. 

“Freddie!” Brian’s faint voice called from inside, strangled and anxious. “Freddie!”

“I should’ve just let you on the street!” John screamed and shoved Freddie away. His eyes glowed in fury. “Both of you! You should’ve been dead, both of you! Both of you!”  
And with that, he was gone.

Ungrateful. 

John’s clothes were torn and crumpled and coloured by a dark blood from several marks after Freddie’s teeth, which drew attention of several passer-byes on the street, but the vampire didn’t care. He just went, aimless, and his mind reminded of a great whirlwind of anger, confusion, hurt and betrayal.

Unfaithful.

Wretched.

That’s all they were, and many more. Traitors. Little miserable traitors. John shivered, wondering why he’s feeling so cold, way too cold, while feeling like his insides burned with flames. His heart ached and bled, but he didn’t want to think about it. Why would he? No. Even if they leave him, so what. They don’t need him, but Roger was stupid to think he ever needed them. He used to be damn good on his own, for many years. Brian can go fuck himself, and stay in his living grave, and Freddie... who cares. He might choose to keep having long monologues about everything and nothing as the only way to keep Brian company, while Roger, unturned, slowly gets old and dies. Dead as a doornail.

John chuckled darkly. What a sight that would be.

He already ate that night, before going to Roger’s, but he reckoned one more victim can’t hurt. Even if just to spite those three. 

The Church of St. Mary seemed almost gleefully white in the darkness of the night. John clenched his teeth, staring at the tall door, full of hate.

It’s you again, your job, isn’t it, he thought. You chose to hate me, God, didn’t you? Is this your punishment for me?

He couldn’t get in the church, and the ground already burned under his feet. Holy ground. Because he was a vampire – everything evil and dirty of this world, feeding on blood and death. He wasn’t allowed.

“What do you want me to say,” John whispered, few steps away from the gate. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and someone walked out. A priest. And he looked surprised to see someone standing so desperately in front of the church at almost one in the morning.  
For a moment, he and John stared at each other.

“What can I do for you?”

John froze. “Do for me?” he repeated. “I don’t think there’s much. I mean... there is one thing,” he looked around. “You should go home.”

“I don’t think I should,” the old man stepped towards John. “My son, I know a lost lamb when I see it. You need help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“It wouldn’t be my help, child,” the priest looked up, “but Lord’s. He never refuses those who turn to him for guidance. Ask, and it will be given to you, seek, and you will find, knock, and it will be opened to you. That’s from-“

“Matthew 7:7,” John frowned. “I know. But it’s a lie only fools believe.”

“Why is it a lie, my child?”

“There are those, who he condemned,” John stepped closer to the man, so close they almost met nose to nose. “God had turned from me a long ago, threw me in a pit of Hell. He took my everything, and keeps taking more – and in return, I took myself from him. I don’t think he liked many things I’ve done through the years, but I couldn’t care less.” 

“Our Lord is merciful. And forgiving,” the priest seemed calm and unphased. “There is no reason to give up hope, the door to Paradise is open.”

John chuckled. “Not for me. And do you know why? Because – and listen carefully – it happened I killed my wife. Then, I killed my children. And then, I killed everyone who came in our house the morning after. Then I ran. And I killed again. Again, and again, I killed, and I sucked them dry and left the bodies rot. I can’t even count how many... many people through the years... thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Tell me... does your God forgive that?” John grabbed the priest’s shoulder and shook him with anger rising once again. “Does he? Does he? I took his precious lambs and unlike some, I have no intention to stop. Save yourself the talk about his mercy, he has none for me.”

“He does,” the priest gasped, and let out a soft ah! when John buried his fangs in his neck. He drank and drank, and a part of him hoped the flow would be endless and he’d drown in it.

But then – John smelled something, and quickly dropped the dead body on the ground. The smell... oh, what was it? He never felt it before, he never... He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he craved it. He needed... 

John quickly looked around with a soft whine in his throat. He felt small and alone, and he needed... God, it was so hard to think straight...

Dark figure appeared from the shadows, a tall young man, going straight to John. A vampire. John watched him with utmost fascination, making no moves to escape, though the blood in his veins boiled. He felt danger, but... so warm... so safe... the strangest feeling...

“My little one,” the vampire smiled, and his grin got even wider when John couldn’t but whine in response. “I know you haven’t seen me for quite a while but... I’m here. Are you happy to see me, John?”

“Who are you?” John whispered. “What... what are you doing?”

“My name is Paul, John. Prenter.”

John blinked. “Paul Prenter?”

“Oh, you don’t recognize me,” Paul touched his shoulders, and the touch was electric. “Doesn’t matter.” He ran his fingers over John’s face and leaned in to lick a droplet of priest’s blood. “... oh, just look at you,” he purred. “So exquisite you’ve become. Who would’ve thought, back then, at Lincoln? Sure thing, I didn’t look my best, but I should thank you – it was you what saved me. And even though your friend put a stake through my heart, he forgot the head. Lucky negligence, because... here I am. To take care of you, my little one. Finally.”

“Sire...,” John realized, staring in helpless submission, shivering, overcome by the strength of bond. He had cried for help, and his sire answered... his father... his sire...

“That’s right, my little one. I found you, I came, and I’ll never leave you. Never.”

John looked up. “Never?”

“Never,” Paul promised. “As long as we both shall live, I won’t leave you. And you won’t leave me, little one. Never.”

John nodded, his eyes wide, misty and trusting. “Never.”


	13. Chapter 13

John stretched himself in a coffin and moved up to relieve his aching bottom. His pale, naked body slid against his sire, who sighed at the movement, wrapped his arm around John and pulled him closer.

“It’s evening...,” John whispered, snuggling closer, “I’ll have to go...”

Instead of releasing him, Prenter’s hand slid slightly lower on the small of John’s back. “You didn’t even tell me,” he said casually, “what caused that little yesterday breakdown of yours. I smelled it for miles.” 

John sighed, and the sound echoed in the empty space of a crypt Prenter had chosen as his lair. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“That’s too bad, little one, because I want to hear it,” the old vampire looked straight into his sired’s eyes, and John gulped. “Well?”

“It’s...,” he hesitated, “... about my sired, Brian. He met this human, and now he doesn’t want to feed and won’t let me feed him or even get close and he can’t see reason and I don’t know what to do!”

Prenter raised his eyebrows. “What’s this human’s name?”

“Roger. Roger Taylor.”

“So... about that one, kill him. And when it comes to your sired,” Prenter shook his head upon John’s naivete, “order him. And if he disobeys your will, punish him. You are his sire for a reason, and your will is a will of god.”

“He’d hate me forever,” John mumbled. “And even if I order him, he won’t listen. He won’t do it, and Freddie’s on his side.”

“You’re way too soft. But maybe you already noticed, this world is cruel. You raised them too weak to handle it, and that’s why they suffer – and you with them.”

John pressed his eyes closed. “It’s my fault, I know, I know... but... I just want them happy, just that...”

“Oh, my...,” Prenter sighed and embraced John tighter in consolation, “... maybe I should’ve come sooner. I wasn’t there when you turned, but you grew to be so... exquisite, regardless. On the other hand... there are so many things about our kind you need to learn. Who we are... where we came from... You’d understand that making your young ones “happy” isn’t the goal you should strive to. You need to get them ready to face the world as our kind. Here you failed, miserably so.”

“Whatever’s there to know,” John sat up and a wave of distress crossed his face, “please, tell me.”

Was there... was there really some secret? Some solution he didn’t know of? 

Prenter only stretched himself more comfortably and pulled John back. “You know how humans were made, little one. God created Adam out of clay but Eve from his rib, so she would always be his inferior. She wasn’t the first he laid with though. Along with him, out of the same clay, God created a woman, Lilith. Strong, wild and beautiful, she refused when the poor human man tried to subdue her. So, Adam drove her out of paradise, but after a while, he wanted her back. And he begged God to bring her – but she refused. God doesn’t like when anyone’s will surpasses his, so he put a curse on Lilith and all the demons she bore. Among them, our kind. And then, full of self-righteousness, God returned to Eden, gave Adam his Eve - new, meek and obedient woman - and blessed their union to fill the Earth. That’s why we’re above humans, my little one. We, the firstborns of a father that refused us and embraced his human children instead. It’s our mother that drives us to crave their blood and death, just like she craves revenge on her lover. And as God refused us his blessing and made our lives barren, Lilith had to find another way to let our kind survive. We’re born of humans, from the life of Adam, but perfected by her blood.”

“But...,” John hesitated, “how does this help Brian?”

“The point I’m trying to make here,” Prenter said, a bit annoyed the long story caused such little effect, “is that in order to live the life given by Lilith, you must leave everything what’s left of the other one. You must embrace the heritage of our mother. Her strength, her will, her thirst, her revenge. To turn someone, that’s hardly the final act of our creation. Believe me, I know, I’ve sired many more than just you, John. Hardly anyone made it through. They were weak, just like your sired. But it’s never too late to admit a mistake.”

John drew away a bit, his brows furrowed. “So... that’s all Brian is? A mistake?”

“I’m sure he sees it in a very similar way, am I right?” 

“But what do I do?” John’s nails dug deeply in the wood of their coffin as he stared desperately. The crypt seemed suddenly way too damp and dark, even for a vampire. “How do I fix him?”

“You can’t,” Prenter smirked. “The poor thing had his chance and proved himself good for nothing. Kill him, and if it helps you unwind, kill the human as well. And move on, because... there are many, more suitable candidates to be sired. This time... I will help you with it. No more waste of time. No more mistakes.”

“No!” John exclaimed and jumped out of the coffin. For nearly a millennium he wasn’t cold and didn’t breathe, but suddenly, he was shivering, and a huge lump blocked his throat. His pale naked body contrasted with a black stone around. “No, I can’t, I... I won’t kill him, I... he’s in Roger’s house, I can’t even get in the house,” he reasoned.

Prenter shrugged. “Burn the house.”

“He is my son!” John’s eyes glistened with fury as he scooped his clothes up from the ground, shiver exchanged for anger. “He is my son, and I won’t hurt him!”

“Just when I thought you were perfect, John...,” the Prenter sighed and sat up, “such a... disappointment.”

John felt a sudden pang of guilt, hearing he upset his sire. He lowered his eyes.

“Did I speak just in the wind?” Prenter continued, his voice focused and quiet. “Did your life teach you nothing? Did the story I had told you teach you nothing? We aren’t humans, and we either get rid of everything that once made us part of them or... we won’t survive. All your care and mollycoddling are adorable, but some sireds weren’t meant for this life. You say you wouldn’t hurt him? You already did. You started it, now you finish it. And then come with me. We’ll build a new family, a true family of our kind. Just me, you, and others I sire.”

John looked away, and thoughts were buzzing in his head like a runaway hive. It made sense, so much sense, but... how could he even... It was his fault, Brian was his fault, undoubtedly. John took the responsibility and made a mistake. If it weren’t for him, Brian would be dead. Even if he didn’t die at that hospital, now, in 1971, he would probably be dead or dying... Wouldn’t the kill be a mercy? Returning things to their natural state?

Prenter chuckled. “Oh, my little one. You really got to love them, didn’t you?”

“Yes...,” John looked up desperately, “they’re my children...”

“And it hurts, doesn’t it?” Prenter got up from the coffin and took John’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I can smell it from you... such a human stench. That’s why it hurts, don’t you see? These feelings are just a remnant of a previous, low, pathetic, mortal life – a heritage of Eve, if you like. All that love, care, and worry, where did it get you? What did it give you? Nothing but pain. So, cut it out, cut it clean. Start again. Kill them.”

“No!” John shivered. “No, I- sire, I- can’t...”

Prenter raised an eyebrow. “Or should I think you’re a mistake as well? Maybe you are...”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it!” Prenter barked, but then backed up immediately. “John...,” he whispered, “trust me... I know something about this... You may be unsure now, but later, when you look down on their bodies at your feet... you’ll know I advised you well. You gave them this life, you gave them a chance, you have the right to take it away.”

John stood silent, and then looked back at Prenter. “You said... you’ve had sireds before.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Where are they?”

“Not here anymore,” Prenter said. “They didn’t last.”

“And why is that?” John frowned and took a step back. “Is it because you turn them and then watch how it ends up? I might’ve been an accident, but there are no bitemarks on your neck. You never nursed any sucklings! You never cared! What kind of a monster are you?”

“It’s a good strategy,” Prenter shrugged. “The strong ones find a way, and the others... But you did it, John. You’re strong, one of my best.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment,” John said coldly, “and I’m glad you cleared up a thing or two for me. But I don’t want you, and I don’t need you. I managed so far, and I made my own life. And if it’s a mistake, if I’m just one of the weak cockups, then so be it. My sons are my family, I love them, and I’ll keep on trying my best. I don’t know what to do. But thanks for giving me options to eliminate.”

“You think you can just walk away like this?” Prenter asked. “I’m your sire, boy, your life is mine.”

“Take it then, if you want!” John spread his arms. “Come on, kill me! I lived nearly a thousand years, I embraced it and I got through. But sure, let’s just get rid of a mistake. I wasn’t in an exactly good place yesterday, but I know better than being your little puppet – because that’s what you want in a sired, isn’t it?”

“You’ll be begging for me to take you back,” Prenter hissed. “You’ll crawl on your knees and believe me, I’ll enjoy it.”

“Looking forward,” John nodded, and with that, he left the crypt. 

But... what to do? What to do...

It’s been a quiet night at Roger’s place. Way too calm. The silence was being interrupted only by the steady sound of ticking clock from the kitchen, and occasional tap of Scrabble tiles from Freddie’s and Roger’s game. Brian didn’t participate, just laying stiffly on the bed, and Roger couldn’t honestly tell how much of it was caused by lack of blood how much by a quiet desire to be left alone. 

“So, if I take your C-A-T,” Freddie said out loud, trying to break the tension, “and add my M-E-E-R to it...”

“That’s not how it’s spelled,” Roger said, shaking his head, “sorry.”

“What?”

“It would be -K-A-T.”

“Not in Shakespearean English,” Freddie mumbled and leaned back. “Which is the only one that matters. Bri, darling, what do you think?” 

Brian just looked at them and then slowly, very slowly, turned his head the other way. 

“Now, dear, that’s no attitude, I-“

“Fuck!” Roger suddenly flipped the board. Small yellow tiles flew up in the air and fell with a crumble. “Fuck this!”

“Roger!” Freddie ran after him as the blond hurried away from the bedroom. 

“I can’t do this!” Roger exclaimed when caught at the door. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I’m sorry for- game- but I can’t, can’t!”

“I know, lovie, it’s alright...,” Freddie took him in his arms, “and shhhh, be quiet, Bri can hear you.”

“Well, he always will, won’t he?” Roger snapped and tore himself away from him. “He’ll stay like this forever dried like a bloody Tutankhamun and then what? Nothing! What will we do? Play stupid board games every night? And then? Will I just pass you on later – to my children and grandchildren and on and on! Oh, let me tell you a story how your great-great-grandfather got himself those two vampires that camp in our bedroom!” His voice raised at least two octaves in hysteria. 

“Roger...,” Freddie whispered. “You know I told you already – the moment you want nothing to do with us, I take Bri and we go. Just-”

“-just say you’re no longer welcome,” Roger mumbled, looking away. “I won’t do that. And... I’m sorry.”

Freddie sighed. “You’re the last who should apologise.”

“Do you think...,” Roger nervously scratched his chest, “... think that... that I’ll end up like you? One of you?”

“What makes you think that?” Freddie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Roger, we’d never...”

“It’s just a thought,” he shrugged. “But if we dismiss those you killed, then all the people who get entangled with vampires get turned. You did, Bri did...”

“There were many we didn’t kill or turn,” Freddie smiled. “It’s not the only way.”

“I just... can’t imagine I would go back to my life, job, people, same as before... after all this,” Roger admitted. 

“Do you want to be turned?”

“God no! But... is it true what John said?” Blue eyes seemed carefully hopeful. “Do you think if I let him turn me, Brian would...”

“Darling, no,” Freddie frowned and took Roger by his shoulders. “No, no, no. You wouldn’t help him. If anything, it’d make the matters even worse. We can’t help little Bri... but we can make sure what he’s fighting for stays intact. You.” He huffed and released the grip. “He asked me for it, you know. I’m staying in this house for him, but for you as well. He asked me to protect you, from anyone who’d take you from the sun.”

Slowly and quietly, Roger sighed, and his shoulders fell. “I suppose,” he said, “I’d miss that. The sun... the day... it’s worth the mortality.”

Freddie nodded. “I think so too. I don’t regret what I did, and I would do it again, but... I wish I remembered more of those old days. And I wish they weren’t over. But John... he’s always been my destiny, ever since I was a babe. Where he belongs, I belong with him, and everything else besides that seems... insignificant.”

Roger leaned against the cold wall. “I wonder if he feels the same.”

“I know he does...,” Freddie smiled dreamily, “... he used to call me “my little sun” and I know now what he meant. It goes deep, deeper than just a nickname.”

Roger hummed. He didn’t want to hurt Freddie’s feelings, but considering his last memories of the oldest vampire were of him being slammed against the floor, he didn’t think himself a big fan.

“I hope he comes back soon,” Freddie looked a bit anxious. The front garden still lacked the dark figure that used to lurk there during the last weeks. “Do you think he’s alright? You... you don’t think he’d just...,” his voice wavered, “...leave us, right? He got angry at me, but we argue from time to time, granted, never about-”

“He’s sulking,” Roger interrupted him. “He’ll get over it. And... I guess he needs also... well... what you guys do. And anyway,” he looked up sharply, “when’s the last time you got out?”

“Me?” Freddie chuckled. “Are you sending me out to get myself a kill?”

“Sorry to be selfish, but I like you better fed by eh... not me.”

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s managed.”

“Freddie...”

“I say it’s managed!” Freddie snapped. “I’m fine, John will return, Bri will be alright, you’ll be alright, everything is going to be fine! Everything, do you hear me? Every single bloody thing!”

In the silence that followed, Roger didn’t really know what to say.

“I guess...,” he mumbled, “you guys still mind me smoking inside?” and didn’t even wait for Freddie’s answer before slipping out of the door.

Freddie sighed, sauntered back to the bedroom, and sat down by the bed.

Brian looked at him with those unfocused, haunted eyes. “Freddie?” he whispered, and his voice was coarse.

“Yes, dear?”

“Does R-R... Roger hate me?”

Freddie took his brother’s hand and squeezed it, forcing a smile. “Of course not.”

“Tell him... soon... that I’m sorry. When I can’t tell him anymore.” Brian hissed, as if even those little movements necessary to speak were tiring. His words were slurred. “And then... tell him...”

“Yes?”

Brian closed his eyes in exhaustion when he mumbled: “... to open the curtains... n-not yet, not yet, but... soon. It’s all been just a bloody... mistake.”

Before Freddie could object with a proper outrage, a high-pitched shriek cut the air.

“Roger!” Freddie ran outside as fast as he could. There was nothing, only a half-burned cigarette on the ground. His eyes widened when he smelled a faint trace of blood in the air. Oh, John... 

Freddie’s throat tightened when he realized what must’ve had happened. John...

Roger was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

Roger was waking up slowly, one sense after another. First... he felt a sharp pain in his shoulders and face. He was lying down on a cold hard-stone floor with his hands tied behind his back. There was a water dripping somewhere not far. Steady droplets falling on the ground, one after another. He whined, trying to wriggle into some more comfortable position, but the ropes on his wrists were tied firmly.

Finally, Roger looked around. Some... crypt or whatever of sorts, he wasn’t sure, and the headache didn’t help.

“Well, well, look at you, finally awake,” some voice behind him spoke. “Roger Taylor himself.”

It startled him.

“Who...,” Roger whispered, his voice raspier than usual, “... the fuck are you? Where am I? Are you a vampire?”

“Yes, I am,” the man said. “And as for where you are... you’re at my mercy, that’s all you need to know. I must admit, I was curious to see that stupid little human who managed to turn a family of vampires into his puppets. Maybe... there’s something in you. Something strong and fierce, that could endure the change.”

Roger growled. “Go to hell.” 

“There’s no heaven or hell for us, Roger, that’s a known fact. Now... I suspect sooner or later we’ll have company and until then... we might make ourselves comfortable.”

Strong hand gripped Roger's hair and pulled them back. A handful of something loose was pushed in his mouth and he choked in surprise. Salt! A fucking salt what the hell... Roger grimaced.

“I suppose...,” his captor said, “you don’t understand yet. Allow me to explain. Do you see that bucket of water in front of you?”

The bucket was really hard to miss. Roger's mouth and throat were getting dry and painful, and some water sounded great, but...

“It’s all yours,” the vampire chuckled. “Drink your fill. But I should warn you... I added a bit of my blood in the mix. You drink... and become a family.”

Roger’s stomach felt on water while his insides burned dry. As if the whole inside of his mouth painfully shrunk and crumbled. And the water was there... just in front of him...

“We’ve got all night...,” his captor smiled, “... take your time. It’s nobody’s choice but yours.”

It took Freddie a long time to calm down distraught Brian, but after assuring him several times he would bring Roger home safely, he set off. 

Oh, how he wished to be as sure of a good outcome as he pretended in front of his brother. Freddie’s heart clenched. He didn’t want to believe that John... He didn’t understand. Not that it was so unimaginable, on the contrary, and that made the whole situation even worse. Freddie knew better than anyone the true nature of his lover. Loving and devoted as well as quietly merciless when it came to it. He wouldn’t blink an eye to end a human life, especially when wrath was involved. But... John promised! Freddie gritted his teeth. He bloody promised...

He expected to find their home on Amen Lane empty, but to his surprise.... did John kill Roger in their house? Freddie didn’t hear any heartbeat, he didn’t smell any... no, no, no...  
Freddie burst into the door and headed straight to the living room and found John, mindlessly playing with one of their cats. Alone...

“How could you!” he shrieked. “How could you do this to us?”

John’s eyes widened. Instead of jumping up, he slowly sunk deeper in the sofa. So, it’s true... 

“I’m sorry...,” he whispered.

“You’re sorry? Sorry? That’s all you say?” Freddie grabbed one of their vases and threw it at his father. And the fact John didn’t get angry screamed his guilt more than any actual words. 

The cat ran away.

“Freddie, you have all reasons to be angry-”

“What’s wrong with you?” Freddie screamed, and his face seemed almost desperate. “Are you really that far gone? I knew that there’s no stopping you from getting what you really want, I understood that much centuries ago, but this? What about Brian? You just can’t help being selfish and cause another pain. Why? Because you wanted to?”

“It’s not like... I wanted...,” John stuttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“You didn’t think what?”

“I didn’t think it would be that difficult!” John got up sharply, still wide-eyed. “I should’ve guessed, I mean, I know how you and Brian act when with me, but I’d never think... he told me to and it was just... too difficult to resist. I’m sorry...”

“Too difficult to resist killing Roger? What are you, a new-born? I’m sorry, I don’t believe that,” Freddie’s face went cold. “You knew exactly what you’re doing, you knew exactly I’d begged you not to do that, and you killed him anyway. You make me sick.”

John blinked in confusion. “Roger? Killed Roger? What- Roger’s dead?”

For a long moment of confused silence, Freddie frowned. “He’s gone. Someone took him and I smelled blood so...”

“So, you thought I’d killed him?” John said, looking quite offended. “Freddie! I promised you I wouldn’t! I promised him I wouldn’t, and as far as I recall, my word used to mean something!”

“But someone did!” Freddie flailed his arms. “Who could...”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he could already see a change in his sire’s face. 

“Oh, fuck...,” John mumbled and sat back on the sofa, staring down, “bloody bastard...”

“Who?” Freddie quickly sat down to him. “John! What’s this about? You know who did this?”

John avoided his eyes. “Two days ago...,” he said, clutching his fingers, “I met someone. My... my sire. And I went with him and... told him everything... and got to know him, well... in a biblical sense.”

“You went and fucked some other vampires?” Freddie’s eyes nearly popped out from their sockets. “Your sire? You have a sire?”

“Everybody has one,” John scowled. “And yes, I let him fuck me, and that’s what I was trying to apologise for.”

“But why?” Freddie grabbed John’s hand. “Why did-“

“You ask me why?” John snapped and jumped up from the sofa. “Do you have any fucking idea how it feels to stand in front of that house night by night, while you’re by Brian’s side, doing nothing while he rots? Because I’m the one who caused it, I’m the bad one, I hurt Brian, I’d hurt Roger, your precious Roger? I’ve lost a family once and took me hundreds of years before I came even close to building another! I did everything for you, and I’d do more! Anything you’d ask, I’d give you, anything... and for that I’m left to stand on a pavement, able to do nothing but stare how you’re leaving me? Is it so bloody weird I searched for someone who wouldn’t hate me?”

“Hate you?” Freddie repeated weakly. “John, Deaky... I don’t hate you, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t...”

“And still you think I’d hurt someone you got attached to with no reason whatsoever?”

“Father, I-“

“No, shush,” John waved his hand, scowling, and pressed a short kiss on Freddie’s cheek. “We’ll need to have a long talk, all of us. Once we get Roger back.”

Freddie lit up. “We?”

“We,” John confirmed, already half out of the door. “And come! If my theory is correct, he’s not exactly getting an afternoon tea over there.”

The two vampires hurried across the city. Unfortunately, despite the night hours, people were still in the streets, which prohibited Freddie and John from running at full speed. And the clock was ticking, dawn getting closer and closer.

By that time, Roger turned into a little ball of suffering. He had been kicked, mocked and he was so fucking thirsty... with the bucket of tainted water right in front of him... He knew what would happen if he drank that. But... would it really be so bad to turn into a vampire. Anything, he would do anything to chase away that cruel dryness, even his brain felt dehydrated. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t swallow...  
His whole world narrowed into that one bucket, his only salvation. But no... he can’t give that fucker the satisfaction, he can’t... he can’t...

“Paul!”

Steps echoed through the grey crypt when John and Freddie walked down the stairs. Prenter slowly bared his teeth in a smile. He didn’t greet them, he didn’t run, he just stood calmly next to the tiny helpless body, so frail and human.

“My dear John,” he said, and his eyes gave a cold spark, “sweet little sired came back...”

The wave of desperate attachment and neediness rubbed against John, but this time he wasn’t taken aback and fought back. But still...

“You knew I’d come,” he mumbled, not looking his sire in the eyes. “That’s why you took him.” No. No, this won’t do, John reprimanded himself. You need to be stronger. Strong for Freddie. Strong for Roger.

“Maybe,” Prenter shrugged. “Maybe not.”

Freddie stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

Prenter clicked his tongue. “John, baby, explain to your suckling that he should be silent when the grown-ups speak.”

“What the-“

“No, Freddie,” John said quickly and softly gestured him back, “please, stay out of this.”

“But-“

“Freddie! Shut up!” 

“That’s right,” Prenter purred showing his fangs in a wide smile. “Very good, little one. Though I have to admit I’m a bit... disappointed.”

John frowned. “Because? You couldn’t possibly expect me to stay, not after what you-”

“Oh, no, no,” Prenter reached down and pulled Roger on his feet, holding his collar. It was clear the boy couldn’t stand on his own. “I’m disappointed you came back,” he shook Roger to prove his point, “because of this. Going out of your way for a human, et tu, John?”

“Yes,” John said, and his face was stiff. “And I don’t care what you think of it. So? What now?”

There was a long silence after that question, interrupted only by drops of water falling on the crypt’s floor and Roger’s wheezing breaths.

“Who knows...,” Prenter mused and glanced disinterestedly at Roger, “maybe he’d be a better sired than you’d ever be. And I could just leave him in your hands until he proves himself at least a bit. But then...,” he sighed, “no offence, John, baby, but you already brought up two failures. I wouldn’t have you ruin another. So... maybe it’s all just not worth the trouble. I might just kill him. He smells sweet enough.”

“No!” John exclaimed when Prenter’s fangs got closer to the human’s throat. Freddie blinked in surprise.

“No?” Prenter chuckled. “You really are lost, aren’t you?”

“You don’t want him,” John’s eyes hardened, but his voice was pleading. “We both know that. If it was just about another sired, you could’ve picked anyone. But that’s not what you’re after. You said it before. You want one already proven. Already able. You’re doing this for me.”

Prenter raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you can have me.”

Freddie gasped, but John shushed him again.

“Why should I want you?” Prenter asked coldly. “You proved to me quite well you’re no better than those cock-ups of yours.”

John kept an eye-contact, but his face seemed somehow... meeker. Sadder.

“I’m not,” he agreed and bowed his head, “but I’m still closer than any. I can learn. And I will learn. Whatever you say, I’ll do, I’ll follow you without hesitation and without questions.”

Freddie froze at the spot, only his eyes jumped from John to Prenter and back again. Prenter’s face seemed the same as minute ago, but one could see he was pleased.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he smiled sweetly. “On your knees, baby. Beg me to take you back.”

“Please, don’t!” Freddie whispered, grabbing John’s shoulder. “We can fight him, we can-”

“We can’t!” John jerked away from the touch. “He’ll kill Roger before we even move and even if not – it’s nearly morning. Wait longer and we can’t get out of here until it’s too late. Roger needs to get to the hospital.”

“Clever baby,” Prenter chuckled and looked up to the only narrow window of the crypt. “Yes... there’ll soon be morning. Think carefully and... no pressure.”

Everything stilled, and maybe even the time stopped when John with a completely blank face slowly sunk on his knees. Until then, Freddie hadn’t been sure how his worst nightmare would look like. Now he knew.

“Please, sire,” John whined, “please... please, take me back. I’ll be good, I promise... Please...”

“Do you think you deserve to be punished for running away like that?” Prenter asked softly.

John lowered his eyes. “Yes, sire, if you decide so.”

“You!” Prenter glanced at Freddie and threw Roger to his feet. “Take this garbage out and piss off. And don’t you even think of anything funny.”

There was nothing Freddie could do but scoop Roger in his arms and head out quickly. The last thing he saw from the crypt was John kneeling on the stones, with Prenter slowly, slowly coming closer... 

“Can’t he just leave?” Roger asked angrily, pacing around his bedroom right and left. It’s been two days since he’d been released from the hospital, getting a major scolding from his doctor when he'd blamed his condition on a bet with a friend. “That bastard let us go, John doesn’t need-”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Freddie hissed. He’d been a wrecked bunch of nerves since they returned and barely even talked to Brian, just huddled in his corner. “Prenter is his sire! There’s a bond between them, and once John lets him in...,” he struggled to find the right words, “... there won’t be a way back. He didn’t offer just his company, he offered... himself, in e-every sense of that.” Freddie’s eyes were desperate and dark. “Believe me. Even if we go and find them... John won’t go. He’s his now.”

Roger turned to Brian, who didn’t respond, he didn’t even move, just stared anxiously at the other two.

“There was... a choice,” Roger whispered and sat down by Brian’s side. He searched for something, anything to calm him down. “It’s not your fault. And from now on, I won’t leave you. Never.” Brian just stirred a little and Roger quickly cupped his cheek. “Shh, it’s alright. It’s alright... Try to get some sleep, love. It’s nearly morning.”

Another week passed. 

Night above the small town of Oadby had just been at its darkest. Faraway stars looked like tiny snowflakes wedged in the sky, softly mirroring the thin layer of snow covering the dark grass.

Two silent figures were standing at the edge of a nearby forest, looking down at the town.

“Do you remember the day, little one?” Prenter asked quietly. “Time... it flows so quickly we don’t even notice and then it’s suddenly nearly a thousand years. This is where you grew up – and see? Nothing looks like it used to. Everything changes, and not for the better. Only we... we are eternal.”

John’s face remained cold and unchangeable, yet somehow... it seemed even paler, his features worn and eyes empty. He didn’t think, he didn’t really have to, he just... was. And didn’t really care for that either.

“Yes, sire,” he said blankly and didn’t dare to add more, still feeling the remains after Paul’s punishments. Even though for human standards he was strong and invincible... there were ways how to hurt a vampire. And his sire proved himself to be a master.

“Do you know why I brought you here, baby?” Prenter asked but went on without even waiting for an answer. “I want you to recall that night. The night when you turned. And imagine it’s this one. You joined me right after you dug up from that grave, there’s been no time in between. Do it.”

“The village... it’s been a lot smaller,” John’s face was completely empty when he talked. “This forest reached way over... over there. To the cemetery. I... woke up in a coffin and got out. I was scared and hungry, but somehow... I didn’t even know until... m-my w-w-wife,” his voice shook, which earned him a glare from Prenter, “... my w-wife opened the door and... invited me in. Hungry... so much. I smelled her blood, I heard her pulse... I couldn’t resist. I killed her. And then... our children came down to look... and I...”

“Say it,” Prenter said and his eyes narrowed. “I want you to say it, say it all, baby, and leave nothing out.”

John’s eyes glistened – and not with tears. “Why are we doing this?” he whispered. “Why?”

“I want you to realize just how different you are from the children of Eve,” Prenter said, looking over the village. “You made a mistake by trying to keep her ways and suffered for it, but that ends tonight. You will cut out all the love, kindness and compassion, because the real world, our world, it’s cruel and unforgiving. And so shall we.”

“Yes, sire...,” John whispered, lowering his eyes in obedience, “unforgiving.”

Prenter just smirked and looked up to the sky where the slowly fading lights of stars blinked in response. Dawn was coming... but no, not yet. There was still time to play. He felt torturing John, sensing his pain and fear, had become his second favourite thing, right after pounding that tight arse.

So...

... suddenly a sharp, blinding pain erupted through his chest, and Prenter gasped. He didn’t... understand... until he saw a large branch just poking through a hole in his chest, coated in black blood.

“Don’t mind me, father,” John hissed from behind, holding the branch firmly, “it’s just the way world is.”

His hands slowly slid from the wood onto Prenter’s shoulders and up on the temples until he grabbed firmly, and before could the older vampire even react – John yanked, and the head stayed in his hands while the rest of Prenter’s body collapsed down on the ground. 

Dead and finished.

John was jut staring at it, ignoring the first trills of a nightingale. He didn’t have a beating heart. And yet... it raced. Yet... it hurt. He’d done something unforgivable - he killed his sire. And no matter what said sire had done or been, John killed his sire.

The weight of everything simply crushed on him, and John whimpered, his face twisted. Vampires couldn’t cry, so he didn’t, but... Everything... the whole fucking thousand years, and what went with it...

“Oh, God...,” John caught his head and tugged sharply on his hair. He didn’t want to... He didn’t want to go on, because what would there be? He didn’t want to go back he didn’t want to! Stop it! Stop it, everything stop! John remembered it clearly, he had to remember going way back... back to the beginning which happened right there. In Oadby. Though in a different world.  
He didn’t even realize his body moving, as he slowly walked away from the corpse quickly falling to ashes.

It all felt strangely aethereal and unreal. There, there used to be the edge of the forest... and there used to be their house. Sorry shack by standards of 20th century, but back the they knew it was their palace. 

Oh, Ronnie...

“Ronnie...,” John mumbled with his throat painfully clenched, staring towards the cemetery. None of those graves were old enough, but he could sense where he had to look, just slightly to the left, to the field. There used to be the cemetery back then – the one where his family had to be buried. He felt wrong. Wrong and wretched, throughout the whole cursed life. It was a curse, not a new life, a curse, a damnation. It cost him... everything. It took him everything. 

That piece of land didn’t look any different than any other, but somehow John felt that was the place where...

Ronnie, her shining smile, tanned skin and silky hair, her waist was already bloated with another pregnancy while their older children toddled around. They knew each other their whole lives. She was his. His first love, his anchor, mother of his children. How... How was it possible for him to not think of her? He tried so hard to forget her, to dull the pain. But now it all came back, sharp and clear, cutting like a knife.

John shrieked, and the helpless cry of despair and pain cut the silence of the night. All that’s happened, Freddie, Brian, Roger, his own forced submission, killing his sire... it all just broke his defences. He couldn’t do this any longer. He had none, none at all. And his core crumbled apart.

“Why?” he screamed. It was him who belonged with them, under the ground, not standing on it. Alive but not alive, John felt deader than ever. And God, it hurt. He felt desperate love surging through his veins, along with everything Paul deemed a heritage of Eve and unworthy of them. John cried for it. He called it, desperate to embrace it back. It should’ve been his, not taken away, sacrificed to the cold indifference and hatred of the mother of demons.

The night paled, but John didn’t care.

Slowly, he sunk on his knees, digging his fingers in the ground, desperate to reach out but knowing he never could. “I’m sorry...,” he stuttered, touching the cold grass, “I’m so sorry...”

Without much warning, the nightingale sang again, and dawn light woke up on the horizon. First morning sun touched the earth.


	15. Chapter 15

_In my time of dying, want nobody to mourn. All I want for you to do is take my body home. Well, well, well, so I can die easy..._

Voice of Robert Plant from the recorder filled the air when Roger leaned closer to the table. He wasn’t smiling. For several days now he wasn’t.

“So, this would be... C-A-R...,” he mumbled and glanced up at Freddie. “Your turn.”

The vampire didn’t react, he just stared blankly at the tiles. 

“Freddie?”

“Can we... not do that right now?” he whispered, and Roger pushed the board away quite gratefully. He wasn’t in the mood as well.

Freddie turned the music off. “He’s dead, you know,” he said, and his voice sounded strained as if he had to fight a great lump in his throat.

“Who, Bri? I-“ Roger got up already when Freddie stopped him.

“No, not Bri. John,” he explained and shook his head in disbelief. “He was my sire. Even when he left us, there was something, some bond inside me that felt him. But it’s gone, for two days now. I didn’t want to think about it, but the more I do, the clearer is... he...” 

“Prenter killed him?” Roger asked quietly. “Can you tell?”

“I don’t know...,” Freddie laid his pale hands on the table, leaning against it, “... don’t know.” His anxiety was rising. “What do I do, Rog? There’s just Bri and me left and Bri... Brian... I just can’t do this, I don’t know... what to... I don’t know!”

Freddie jumped up from the chair and paced around the kitchen just to calm down, but Roger noticed the nervous twitch of his fingers. He was far from calm. Understandably.

Since they returned, Brian got worse, and John’s predictions were slowly coming true. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, and his eyes started to take on a misty tone. His pale skin, which used to be so smooth, was getting hard, dry and sunken. He was still there, somewhere, locked inside, but honestly at this point Roger wasn’t so sure how much exactly. So far they managed, talked to him any time they could, played him music, and Roger slept in the same bed, wrapped around that stiffening body. But that couldn’t go forever. And even according to Brian’s earlier wishes... it shouldn’t.

“Do you think he still wants us to do it?” Roger asked quietly after a moment of silence. “Open the curtains?”

Freddie’s face was indecipherable. “You’d... do it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Roger shivered, “it’s quite... terrible when you think about it, but just sitting around doing nothing, playing a tenth round of Scrabble feels even worse. I mean – how much longer? There’s no way but this one. I can’t stay in forever, sick leave has limits, you know.”

“So, there’s that then,” Freddie pretended to look out of the window though Roger doubted he’d seen anything at all. “John’s gone and... if Bri... there’s nothing to hold me, really. We do this and I leave. You can carry on with your life and forget about this.”

In a moment of silence, Roger thought about the idea. And then looked up. “Or...”

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Or?”

“I... I wouldn’t go back,” Roger said, tapping a tense rhythm against the table. “I just don’t think I can after all this. In fact,” he paused, “I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted this life in the first place. What I know is that you’re my friend. I can’t leave you on your own.”

“I can’t stay for much longer, dear,” Freddie said, trying not to get his hopes too high. “I still have to feed, and people won’t be oblivious forever. And even if we go together, this... lifestyle isn’t any good for a human.”

“I suppose...,” Roger nodded and slowly breathed out, “... just... I may not be.”

Freddie blinked. “You may not be what?”

“Human,” Roger looked him in the eyes. “Turn me?”

“Turn you a vampire? Darling!” Freddie gesticulated around. “You can see first-hand what a mess it all is and...,” he glanced towards the bedroom, “... what’s the cost.” 

“I know!” Roger got up. “But think about it! I mean... I know some parts are... terrible. But everything else, losing Bri and losing you is the worse option! I can’t walk around pretending like this never happened. Because it had.”

“You’ll be surprised how easily you’ll forget,” Freddie touched Roger’s shoulder. “Because-“

“Because you’re a mind reader as well as a vampire?” Roger scowled. “You’d known John before he changed you. Wasn’t there really a moment when you’d choose the fate to be with him?”

“I loved him, dear, that’s something else.”

Roger looked into his eyes, challenged. “Is it? You’re my friend, the only friend I have who gives a damn. Family included. I...,” he hesitated, “...I’d never thought I’d say this but... when I saw you and John in that crypt... and maybe even before that... I thought I wanted to have what you had. Honestly now, your family’s far better than mine, despite everything.”

“My family’s fallen apart because of what we are,” Freddie said stiffly, “I won’t let you get in the same trap. I won’t do it.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

Before Freddie could even answer, someone knocked on the door. It was a soft, shy knock.

Roger frowned. “It’s half past ten. No one sane- Do you think it’s that... John’s sire? Prenter?” even though he tried to sound casual, his face paled.

“No, it’s not,” Freddie looked alert and curious when he sniffed. “It’s not a vampire. Human and... oh, he smells divine.” His eyes lit up.

“No killing my guests until we figure what they want,” Roger warned. “Stay here. I get the door.” He sped up when walking down the corridor, because the knocking repeated, quicker and more urgent.

“I’m coming!” Roger shouted. “Who’s there?”

After a second of silence, he heard a quiet sniffle.

“J-John. John Deacon.”

Roger flung the door open and stopped in his tracks, staring. It was John. Right there at his doorstep, shivering with cold with cheeks dampened by tears. Every now and then he sniffled and had to dry his nose. A proper mess.

“John what... what happened to you? Wh-” He couldn’t finish the thought, because 150 pounds of Deaky just flung themselves in his arms, sobbing, shivering and hysterical. He was warm, and Roger could swear he felt a living heart beating fast and strong like a runaway rabbit.

“It... I... happened...,” John kept gasping after each word, unable to make a sentence, “... help!” 

“John!” Roger raised his voice and pushed him on an arm-length. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!”

“You’re a human!”

“I know!”

“Eh...,” Roger tried to offer some comfort, “there, there. It’s okay. Here, take a hanky. Blow your nose.”

John took it and hesitantly tapped the wet snot. Roger raised an eyebrow and John blushed. Actually blushed.

“S-Sorry, I... sorts of never... had to do it,” John was red in embarrassment. “Sorry...,”

Roger said nothing. As human, John didn’t look that different from his vampire self, but those few changes counted for a lot. From an ageless, cold, pale and perfect creature he turned into a shy, stuttering teen. Seriously, how old was he? Nineteen? Twenty? 

“You didn’t have handkerchiefs back then when... whenever the hell you got changed?” he asked.

John giggled. “1141? I don’t really remember having some. Maybe?”

“It’s okay,” Roger sighed, trying to look casual knowing that the boy in front of him was eight hundred and thirty years old. “But you’ve seen them, no? Just put it in front of your face... like this, exactly, hold it... and blow the air from your lungs out through your nose.”

Fortunately, their efforts met with success.

“Okay, John, just... don’t look at it, please.”

In that moment, Freddie couldn’t wait any longer and walked out of the kitchen. 

“Roger? Who was it, what are you-“ 

His mouth stayed half-open when he stared at John, who clutched the handkerchief as if his life depended on it. Roger worried Freddie’s eyes would just fall out of their sockets.

John smiled awkwardly. “Eh... hello.”

Freddie didn’t answer, frozen in time. “You...,” he whispered and reached out to touch John’s cheek, shaken in disbelief. “You...”

John’s eyes glistened with another load of tears. He couldn’t help it. “You’re so cold...,” he peeped, “and so... oh, God... no... no... no...”

“Shhh,” Freddie mumbled, and his wide-eyed stare met over John’s shoulder with Roger, who just shrugged. “Darling... what happened?”

John shook his head but cried even harder, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“No, no, darling, please, don’t cry, don’t cry...” Freddie didn’t know where all that protectiveness came from, but to see his father, his sire, being suddenly this fragile, warm and frankly adorable human being was a bit too much for asking why.

Roger sighed. “Come in, at least from the corridor. I’ll make some tea you must be frozen.”

“I took a bus,” John said but followed without protests. Suddenly he stopped. “Brian?” he looked at Freddie. “Please, tell me, is Brian-“

“Still the same,” Roger answered instead and grabbed John’s elbow to lead him to the kitchen. “And considering this thing with you being human and such, maybe you calm down first and then go see him. Friendly advice.”

John didn’t argue.

“I just... don’t understand,” John hypnotised the cup of hot tea Roger had put in front of him. “How can this just happen?”

“Okay...,” Roger was rummaging through his cupboards, “I’ve got some bread... some cheese... the bread’s older though but I can make toasts, is that alright?”

John looked up a bit hopelessly. “I... don’t know.”

Roger sighed. “Well, you’re getting it anyway.”

“Listen, darling,” Freddie sat down in front of John, trying to look calm, “what about you tell us what you know, and we start from there?”

John swallowed nervously, but his eyes held a trace of that determined glint Freddie knew so well. “I’ve been with Prenter and he took me to various... towns until we got to Oadby. I was born there, you know,” he added. “In 1122. We had... our house and field... I got married and we had children. And then one day, Prenter turned me. It was an accident but... he had to feel it. One always does.” Here John looked at Freddie who smiled in encouragement. 

“Drink the tea,” Roger nudged him. “Before it gets cold.”

John shuddered. “Anyway,” he continued quietly, “he left me to myself. So, when changed, I tried to return home... I killed them. And the day after neighbours came when I was hiding from the sun. They tried to kill me, called me a murderer, a demon, an abomination... quite deservedly. I killed them too. And when the night came, I ran away and tried... to forget all that. I managed, nearly, until recently.”

“You never told me any of this,” Freddie whispered. “Why?”

“What good would it be for you to know?” John looked up, his face tense. “But you should now. Because Prenter took me back there... showed me the place. It looked so different but made me remember... everything. And it was just too much, I...” he swallowed and blinked to hide new tears, “... I couldn’t take it. So, after I killed him-“

“Wait,” Roger turned from the stove and gaped, “you killed the wanker? You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” John answered blankly and lowered his eyes, staring in his tea. “He enjoyed punishing me. Hurting me. And I knew that sooner or later he’d return to you all. He knew I cared, and... I couldn’t have let that happen. It was his fault, all his!” he raised his voice and it broke in sob. “All his fault! Because of him my family... my families... because of him I... I killed him. And then it just all came back, everything, and when I found Ronnie’s grave, I realized I should’ve been there with her. After a long life, we were supposed to... I loved her. God meant us to live together, raise our children, and die together, not- not this! Not this cold, not this night Prenter pushed me to. I wanted this to never happen, it shouldn’t have happened.”

Freddie’s face remained unchanged, but he looked out of the window.

John squirmed. “That’s what I was thinking, and I didn’t know what to do. Because he did this to me, but I did it to you, Freddie. And Brian. How could I go back with knowing I ruined... all your chances? I couldn’t. And then the dawn came. I didn’t even care.”

“John!” Freddie sharply turned back and his eyes widened. “What... You let sun onto you?”

“I did,” John nodded heavily. “It came, and I just sat there, waiting for it. And when it touched me, it burned, but... differently. I was like when you kiss someone you missed, but thousand times stronger. A warmth and ecstasy and calm at the same time. Then I just remember I woke up,” John’s face twitched, “human. I don’t know what happened, this is all.”

Freddie got up, followed by John’s anxious stare.

“I should... check on Brian,” he mumbled. “He must’ve heard you, surely wonders what’s happening. Well, maybe.”

Soundlessly, he slipped away from the room, but when John tried to follow, Roger’s hand blocked his way.

“Look, eh...,” Roger shrugged with a nervous chuckle, “I’m not saying this ever happened in my relationships, but he needs a minute alone. He’ll be back.”

“Will he?” 

“He stuck with you for hundreds of years,” Roger reminded. “This is a... eh... minor issue.”

“Minor issue?” John exclaimed and hit the table. “I was the one who changed him, Roger! That’s a vow! I promised I wouldn’t leave him, ever! And now...”

“It’s not your fault,” Roger said and took a hot plate from the counter. “Here. Eat this and drink your tea. You’ll feel better.”

John glanced at the plate suspiciously and sniffed a bit. “It... smells really good,” he whispered, wide-eyed. “I never realized...”

“It’s just a cheese on toast,” Roger chuckled. “Wait for a real food.”

“I won’t. I’ll ask Freddie to turn me back,” John stated. “I won’t leave them like this.” For a moment he eyed the meal on his plate and then, as if something broke in him, he grabbed the toast and bit down.

“You need to chew,” Roger reminded.

It took a little bit of coughing and dropping crumbs, but John quickly managed, taking another bite with a moan. He tried the tea and gulped without hesitation, then hurried back to the toast. In not even a minute it was gone.

“Do you want another?” 

John looked up with few crumbs still on his lips, and blushed. “Y-yes, please?”

“Makes sense,” Roger turned back to the pantry, taking out the rest of the bread, “if you haven’t eaten since yesterday...”

Quickly, he got to work, but just when he was ready to put the cut cheese on, he heard a soft snore.  
John was fast asleep, face on the table, dangerously close to the half-drunk cup of tea. He looked young, so child-like and positively precious. Roger quickly considered moving him on the small sofa but decided against it. So, he just took a bite of the cheese and headed to his bedroom to grab some blanket.

Just when he thought this vampire stuff couldn’t get any weirder. But then, well, why not.


	16. Chapter 16

It was still dark outside when John woke up, huddled on a sofa under a warm blanket. It took him several seconds to realize where was he, why, and how he got there. And what he was now.

He let out a sigh, his eyes still sticky with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Nearly six in the morning, dear,” Freddie ran his cold hand through John’s hair while seated on the armrest. “I moved you from the kitchen table.”

“Ugh...,” John didn’t really find anything more to say, and slowly sat up. His whole body ached from the night on the small sofa. Something he wasn’t used to in a very long time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Freddie smiled. “How are you?”

How was he? John thought about it. He was hungry, to be honest, felt somewhat sticky, and there was a weird taste in his mouth. He’d already forgotten what slaves of their bodies humans were. 

But he didn’t share those notions, so they just sat in silence. John sighed. Freddie’s presence should feel familiar, after all those years, but... With every pore of his body he could feel the cold, the porcelain of Freddie’s skin, the un-beating heart in his chest. Strange sensation. Terrifying, how a different point of view can do so much. 

“This is how you saw me, isn’t it?” John said and looked up. “When we met.”

Freddie elegantly slipped on the sofa next to him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just so... alien,” John held his pale hand between his and gulped in unease. “You’re... unreal. And there’s something inside me both rising and terrified. Like standing at the top of a cliff.”

“I remember,” Freddie nodded and smiled a bit. “You were a beast of prey, just waiting for a foolish me to come closer. So strong... so beautiful. And I think it was back then already when I knew I wouldn’t care if you did kill me, because if being yours would be the last thing in my life, I’d take it over anything else.”

“I filled my glass with blood just to soothe the craving for you,” John recalled, biting his lip. “Do you- do you think you see me the way I saw you?”

Freddie chuckled. “Soft, warm and squishy? Yes, darling, very much so.”

John pulled away. “Don’t look at me,” he whispered, “please.”

“Why not? Deaky?”

“Oh, come on!” John jumped up and his eyes glistened. “It’s not so long ago I’ve been a vampire! I still know how we- I mean you- feel about people. And I can’t bear it if you... look at me differently now.”

“You’re asking if you’re still attractive?” Freddie was thinking fast despite the morning hour and got up as well. “Darling, you know that if there ever was a food-fucker among vampires, I’m the prototype.”

John involuntarily giggled.

“And besides,” Freddie continued, encouraged, “even if not, this would be a proper moment to start. Because you are beautiful. You were beautiful before, and you are still. No matter how human, fragile, soft, squishy, warm... or red you are,” he added the last one with a grin. And John could indeed feel his cheeks burning up.

“Stop it,” he mumbled and finally allowed Freddie to pull him into a hug. 

For a moment they just stood there, enjoying one another, when Freddie asked: “Do you have any idea what could’ve caused this? Turn you human?”

“I don’t,” John shook his head, “and I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he sighed. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll turn me back anyway, the sooner the better.”

“Hm...”

“Freddie!” he wriggled out of the embrace and backed down, grey eyes anxious. “Please! I can’t stay like this!”

“Of course... if that’s what you wish,” Freddie said quietly. “But you know...”

“Know what?” John frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Know what? Do I know what happens if you don’t do it? Hell yes, I know! I can’t- can’t lose you, Freddie,” he added shakily. “You say you don’t mind but we both know that sooner or later... even if we do stay together, what would be the rest of my life for you? Or even better question – what would be the rest of my life until I start looking too hideous for you to stick around?”

“Do you really think I would leave because of that?”

“You can’t say you won’t!” John exclaimed. “And I can’t lose you, whatever the cost, I need you, Freddie... Please, let me drink from you, let me put this right, Freddie...”

For a moment, the vampire stood quietly, before he approached John and touched his face. “To put this right?” he repeated softly. “Are we to say what is right? When I thought I’d never see you again, when you gave yourself to your sire... I thought I would die on the spot. And now I got you back and... I can’t lose you either. I could never. But there is...” Freddie sighed, and instead of finishing the sentence, he gently turned John around to a mirror hanging on the wall.

John only stared – and his reflection stared back, pale, but humanly so, grey eyes wet with tears. In the mirror, he was alone.

“You know why vampires can’t see themselves in there,” Freddie said, and when John turned to him, the dark eyes were incredibly tender. “Old mirrors backed with silver burn up our reflection. Silver is the purest of elements, the one which reflects the soul. Vampires have none. But you got it back.”

“Then I don’t want it!” John snapped. “If I lose you for a soul, then to hell with a soul, I have no use for it, not without you!”

“Don’t say that,” Freddie crossed his arms and glanced away. “You got a chance for heaven, love. I won’t help you throw it away.”

John paled. “You don’t mean that...”

“You were smiling,” Freddie said. “From your sleep, on this sofa, you were smiling. You never did that before. Tell me – what were you dreaming about? Tell me the truth, and I’ll consider turning you.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” John frowned.

“These are my conditions. Take or not.”

For a long time, John stood silent, biting his lip. Here and there, he gave a tentative glance to the mirror. And towards the kitchen, because he felt hungry again, and wondered if Roger has any more of that cheese or tea. He never tasted tea before, but he liked it. What other things- No. No, no, no, no...

John let out a small sob, and Freddie was right there to support him.

“I dreamt of the sun,” John said so quietly that only Freddie with his sensitive ears could hear it. More tears fell down his face. “I saw the sun, Freddie, and a blue sky... I watched the sunrise... and sunset... I saw people in the streets full of colours... I’m so sorry, so, so sorry...”

“Shhh,” Freddie pressed John closely against his chest while his former sire broke down in another fit of sobs. “You don’t have to... feel guilty about that. I still remember it. Just please, tell me everything.”

“It’s just so beautiful, Freddie,” John whispered. “So full of light and wonders. So warm against my skin. But I can’t take it, not while leaving you behind. I made a promise not to leave you, to always love you and look after you, and I will. If this is a way how God wanted me to accept my deal – to choose a life as a vampire and be content, he bloody succeeded. I’d choose you over the light of day any time.”

“Oh, darling...,” Freddie looked equally taken aback and touched, “... believe me, so would I. I can’t have you choose. I will not.”

“You say that now.”

John half expected an outraged response. but Freddie stayed silent. 

“Do you think...,” he said after a while of thinking and sat down on the sofa, “that it’s God who did this?”

“It’s just a guess,” John shrugged and folded his arms, “but I’ve got no better explanation. He’s a whimsical bastard, we both know that.”

Freddie shook his head. “There must be some sense in this.”

“If you say so.”

John sighed and sat down next to him. “I just wish we could just... be,” he said. “Without all this supernatural, without the mysteries, but it’s as if all of our existence is wrapped in it, bound and entangled in legends, curses, and stories older than the humanity itself.”

“What stories?” Freddie asked.

“My sire said,” John hesitated, “Prenter... told me a legend about the mother of our kind, the first wife of Adam, Lilith. She ran away from him, so God blessed the union of Adam and Eve instead. Blessed them to fill the Earth, while Lilith’s children would be dying one by one. So, she had to find another way for our kind – to curse, twist and poison children of Eve, turn them to the dark and force them leave the light of God for good. And abandon everything Eve could ever give them from her humanity. All that warmth... affections... love... all the heritage of Eve, all gone. And keep only the need to feed of human lives and hatred towards them.”

“But that’s not you,” Freddie frowned. “None of us.”

John twisted his fingers together, looking at the carpet. “It’s not,” he agreed. “And look where it brought us. Brian to suffering without end, me to humanity. You to solitude.”

“Did you love her?” Freddie asked. “Your wife?”

“I did,” John tensed. “Very much. But if you think-”

“I don’t think anything, dear, just...”

“Yes?”

Freddie hesitated. “You... tried to forget her, all these years. You never mentioned her. But last night, you went to her, you begged her forgiveness, you admitted you loved her. To her and to yourself. What if that’s it?”

John shuffled on the sofa. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the heritage of Lilith, if what you say is true, is supposed to drive us away from humans, from God’s blessing. Towards hatred and craving to take their lives. What if love towards them can... bring us back?” Freddie looked up and his eyes lit up a bit. “That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Just a speculation, based on a story I heard from a maniac.”

“So, you believe that I’m right,” Freddie nodded. “You don’t have to hide from me, John. I know you too well.”

“If it was so, and love to a human could bring us back,” John argued, “why wouldn’t Brian turn? He’s besotted with Roger since the day they met!”

Freddie thought about it. “But he never...”

“Never what?”

“Never went on a sun. But you did. You wanted it,” Freddie said, looking John straight in the eyes. “Didn’t you? You wanted the light to touch you – so you’d be with her.”

John felt a new wave of tears all bitter and salty in the back of his throat. “Why are you doing this?” he whispered. “Can’t you just leave it be?”

“I can’t,” Freddie’s voice was thick with emotion. “Because I won’t take away the blessings you got. But I won’t be parted from you either – and if I’m to walk on the sunlight just for the hope I can be with you – then I will.”

“Freddie NO!” John jumped on his feet and his eyes widened. “You don’t know if this is the case, it’ll burn you, it’ll kill you, Freddie, love, I will do anything I’ll spend a hundred lifetimes locked in a darkness to keep you safe, I swear-“

“Maybe you would,” Freddie said. “But I’d never ask you to.” Solemnly, he glanced towards the entrance door. “The sun is rising,” he remarked.

“No!” John shrieked. “No! No! No!”

“And if I say I want to?” Freddie tore himself from his lover’s grasp and stepped back. “I love you, I want you, and I want to be with you in the light and grow strong, for the first time. I will not change you back to that heartless, dead existence. And I will not have you taken away.”

“But what if-”

Freddie smiled faintly. “Have faith. That’s how the Bible says it, is it not? Love, hope, and faith. And love is the greatest.”

He’d lie if he said he wasn’t nervous. Nervous, terrified... and stubborn. Ready to put his life on a line for a glimpse of hope. But what a glimpse!

“You’re right,” John said wearily. “If that’s what you want... then go with my blessing. I love you... and I hope. But if it turns out wrong – I’ll do the same you already once did for me, in Italy. And you can’t stop me.”

With his hand on the door handle, Freddie hesitated and glanced back. “John? ... will you hold me?”

“Of course, little one,” John quickly offered his hand and laid the other one on the handle as well. The sun was rising.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said. “And you can still turn back, if...”

“I don’t want to.”

“Alright. So...”

Freddie pushed the door open and stepped into the light.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time, Brian was used to the pain. In fact it got so far that he didn’t even fully realise its presence – the starving fire inside him, twisting and turning everything in an iron grip. He felt his skin drying and shrinking like a Spanish boot in hands of some lazy torturer, and eyes didn’t remain unaffected either, dry and useless, he couldn’t see anymore. Even his hearing was getting hazy... or was it his mind? To focus a thought was becoming more difficult by day, as Brian got detached from his own self. Perhaps it was just as well. Everything blended together, sleep and being awake, solitude or company... he didn’t know.

Was he dreaming or... did some warm hand really touch him? Roger... Was it Roger? Was he still here? Brian found himself wishing it was true. He wanted him there. He needed... How was it even possible to love someone, to need someone so, so much? To love someone so it hurt to be both with him and without him? Brian didn’t regret his choice but if he had to admit... pangs of doubt came when Roger was near. Brian longed for him. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave, he couldn’t... And he didn’t want to die in general, he wanted to live. To live long and happily, loved and loving, protected and protecting... Was it so silly he still hoped? Perhaps he shouldn’t. But what does it matter anyway what he’s thinking about? Dreams of an impossible future were the last thing he had left.

And then... Brian woke up. 

Not abruptly, more slowly and lazily, flooded with a sense of peace and happiness. Everything was suddenly so different, so... rich and full... He couldn’t comprehend it. It took a moment to figure it out.

And then Brian screamed. He screamed in shock and jerked the blanket so hard he could hear a loud thumb when Roger rolled out and hit the floor.

“FUCK!”

Brian quieted, staring at the mess that was the situation. He could move, he felt fine, no pain, and... slowly... he turned his head to the window. It was wide open and a morning light flooded the room and ran all over him. Brian blinked, blinded by the light he hadn’t seen for a long, such a long time.

“Bri...,” Roger was picking himself from the floor, “just... don’t panic again, okay? This will take some explaining, but we’ll go slow and I promise-“

Brian felt a bit dizzy taking it all in, took a deep breath... and realized he had to breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.

“The sun,” he whispered shakily, “it doesn’t hurt a-and...,” his eyes fell to the back of his bony hand when he noticed a small vein pulsating with the beat of his heart. He wasn’t... dead? He wasn’t dying? He was... “Roger!” Brian’s breath quickened. “Roger, Roger-“

“Shh, I’m here, listen-“

“Ooooh, look at this, darling,” someone from the door chuckled, “isn’t he so adorably confused?”

Brian quickly turned to the warm voice. “Freddie...,” he shivered, fingers restless and nervous, “and... Father, I’m sorry, so sorry...”

“I don’t think you should call me that,” John grinned. “And there’s not need to be sorry. We’ve all came a long way.”

Wordlessly, Brian stretched out his hand. John quickly came and took it.

“It’s alright, baby,” he assured him, still smiling. Brian thought he’d never seen Father so calm and happy.

“You’re... warm,” he whimpered. His head hurt, he felt dizzy, overwhelmed by this moment, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand... “What-what is happening, what-“

John opened his mouth to explain, but didn’t get to it, really.

Brian fainted.

When he woke up again, Brian groaned, slowly realizing this all hadn’t been a weird dream. He was alive. And human. He was human.

“I was wondering when you wake up to join us,” Roger said and got up from his chair just to plop down on Brian’s mattress. “How are you feeling?”

“Ehhhm... hungry?” Brian looked up and his expression was a combination of shy and guilty. 

Roger chuckled. “I bet. Deaky insisted he’d make some breakfast for everybody. We’ll see how that goes, but don’t worry, I’ve got a secret food stash for emergencies.”

Brian exhaled. He could already smell something delicious from the kitchen and hear silent plopping of grease on a pan. “H-how did this happen?” he asked and turned his head to the window, blinking to the sun. No one could tell, not even Brian, if his tears came because of the light or the situation itself. Not that it mattered.

“I guess Deaky will be able to tell the story better than I,” Roger said, “but basically... it’s because...,” he hesitated a bit and scratched his chest in unease, “because you...”

Brian frowned and reached for Roger’s hand. “I... what?”

Roger’s ears reddened. “Because you wanted to be with me. Because... you love me.”

“Oh.” Brian’s cheeks were warming up, he could tell, but his heart felt suddenly heavy because Roger’s expression didn’t give anything away. 

“You know,” Roger’s voice shook in a nervous laugh, “you owe me for a great deal of nerves, you bastard.”

“I know, Roger, I’m so sor-“ Brian didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence when Roger’s soft lips suddenly pressed against his. 

Brian would be first to admit that despite his actual age he didn’t have many experiences with kisses. But despite that, without a doubt, he knew - this one was perfect. Even though Roger leaped so suddenly, the kiss itself stayed slow and soft, comforting in ways Brian never realized he needed – but already wondered how he had possibly lived without them. Roger’s hand rested in his wild curls, his thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. Brian ran her fingers down his love’s spine, pulling him closer on the bed until there was no space left between them and Brian could feel the beat of Roger’s heart matching his.

“Here you are,” John smiled when the two finally appeared in the kitchen, following the irresistible smell of full English. 

Brian was still a bit flabbergasted seeing his intimidating vampire father so human and relaxed, standing by a stove dressed in a pink “Kiss the Cook” apron. It seemed quite new.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Roger tried his hardest not to burst out in giggles.

“In the shop,” John explained, unphased. “They had them in the general grocery section, I’ve always wanted to try it but there... sorts of... there’s never been an occasion. Would you fetch Freddie before the eggs go cold?”

“Where is he?”

“Still in the bathroom, molesting your mirror.”

Finally, some five minutes later, they all gathered around the small kitchen table and John actually blushed getting complimented on the breakfast. He didn’t really understand what the big deal was, after all, he had read the instructions from the book he’d bought together with the apron. 

With a small hesitation, Brian slowly pushed away the bacon away from his plate, and the whole room froze.

“Brian?” John frowned. “Don’t tell me-“

“It’s just- it’s from an animal,” Brian muttered. “Like... dead animal and...”

“That’s ok,” Roger quickly scooped the offending items on his plate. “But the eggs are good, no? And the beans?”

Brian thought about it. “Yes... I suppose. I can eat that.” John had to use all the willpower not to roll his eyes.

“Had anyone thought about what now?” Roger asked in between the bites of his extra bacon. 

John shrugged. “Pancakes?”

Roger gave him a glare. “Not now now!” he waved his hands. “But tomorrow, next week, next year, I mean... I’m the only one who has a job, and it’ll be quite hard to explain you three and – what do you even want to do?”

Freddie snickered, and Roger felt a bit betrayed because not even Brian or John seemed overly bothered by the problem. Ugh, Roger hated being the responsible one.

John smiled. “What do you think about Bali?” 

Roger blinked. “The island?”

“No, the hair studio,” John deadpanned. “I want a perm.”

“Don’t you dare,” Freddie ruffled the long brown locks. “And... Bali? A bit of sunbathing, darling? Brilliant idea.”

“We can’t go to Bali!” Roger protested. “Be reasonable!”

“We are,” Brian assured him and took his hand. “You know,” he smiled, “we’re kind of... rich.”

Roger blinked. “How rich?”

Brian turned to the other couple. “How rich, John?”

“Around eighty million pounds or so,” John shrugged. “I haven’t checked in a while – so maybe a bit more.”

Roger’s jaw almost audibly hit the floor. 

“So?” Brian grinned and gave him a peck. “What do you say? Bali?”

Roger looked him in the eyes, softly and solemnly. “I say HELL YEAH!”

***

14 years later

Saturday July 13, 1985, everyone got up with the same purpose in mind. Nearly two billion people, one third of humanity, tuned in. It was 12 noon in London, 7am in Philadelphia, and around the world it was time for Live Aid.

The greatest rock concert ever.

Truth to be told, in the trailer the atmosphere was a little tense, and the air around almost shivered in anticipation. 

Brian, dressed in his signature unbuttoned shirt, strummed mindlessly, trying to manage his slowly rising adrenaline. Roger, on the opposite sofa, matched to him, dressed in white, and his facial expression seemed undecipherable under the dark sunglasses. Freddie tugged on his leather jacket and had to smile, seeing John’s outfit choice. The bassist seemed so quiet and lost in his head.

“What are you thinking about?” Freddie smiled, bringing him back to reality.

John shrugged. “All this,” he waved around. “I mean, who would’ve thought.”

“The trailer is a bit cramped; I admit.” Freddie teased, even though he knew with quite a certainty that wasn’t what John had meant. 

They spent over four months all together in Bali, and it was just a regular warm day when the local hotel organised an evening of rock’n’roll for its guests. Naturally, the now inseparable foursome couldn’t miss that and... truth to be told... the performers weren’t that good. Terrible, actually.

“That’s an insult to everyone in fifty miles with a functional hearing!” Roger protested as he dragged all the others away from the offence. “Jimi Hendrix is screaming in his grave! They call themselves professionals? Hell, even we could do that!”

Freddie’s eyes sparkled. “I don’t think we could do that, darling. We can do better.”

And so, they did. And so, there they were.

John grinned and carefully touched his fluffy hairdo. “It’s kind of fitting, isn’t it? Us playing on a concert that’s supposed to feed people.”

Roger groaned. “Deaks... I beg you, you don’t even try to be funny.”

John only rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Roger straightened up. “And by the way – if there’ll be any more interviews, Deaks, just because we gave you a birthyear, it doesn’t mean you have to emphasize it during introductions. Believe me, no one would guess you’re over eight hundred years old.”

“I sure feel like it, lately,” John mumbled. “And found a grey hair. Yesterday.”

“In Freddie’s comb?” Brian snickered and quickly dodged to avoid a thrown lighter.

“I don’t have grey hair!” Freddie protested. “Not even close!”

“It’s still kind of amazing,” Brian continued seriously, and his eyes lit up with a warm spark. “Looking back and all that... Growing old feels almost like an achievement.”

“We’re NOT growing old!” Roger exclaimed. “You’re thirty-eight for fuck’s sake! It’ll get worse and we’ll see how you’ll like it.”

“As long as you keep liking it, no complaints from me,” Brian chuckled. “And fine, call it a necessary evil, if you want. But it’s still worth it, isn’t it?”

Freddie and Roger slowly nodded after a while of hesitation, and John smiled a bit.

“It’s worth it,” he agreed and ran his hand over the opposite forearm. He never got used to how warm it felt. And to feel his own pulse. 

“After all,” Freddie grinned, “it’s not like we’re that bad for four aging queens. And I expect you darlings to last in a serviceable condition for a long time to come, is that clear?”

“It’s a deal.” Brian strummed a vague chord to emphasize the point. 

The broadcasted voice from outside was getting louder and somebody knocked on their trailer door to lead the band to the stage.

“That’s almost us,” Freddie said and looked over his bandmates. 

Brian’s eyes met his. “You’re ready?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt but we have had a bit of a complaint about the noise… from a woman in Belgium.”

The voice of Griff Rhys-Jones filled the air and whole Wembley stadium roared in laughter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, who are enjoying the boogie woogie music here today. I would ask you to bear in mind that there are a lot of older people in the area who aren’t up to date with the latest trends in modern music. Like Status Quo, for example.”

John felt his heart beating high up in his throat as he followed the others quickly towards the stage. On the stairs they quickly exchanged glances with U2 who just had their bit.   
Just the last seconds before their supposed entrance, Freddie turned around and John’s heart fluttered. This was Freddie at his finest, full of energy, light and life. Doing what he was born to do. Perhaps... perhaps he really was.

Who said it, that God works in mysterious ways?

“.... HER MAJESTY QUEEN!”

The stadium exploded in screams and chees when the band hurried on the stage, Freddie waving to the crowd.

It was enormous. Magnificent. And perhaps... it wasn’t only Freddie who was destined to end up here. John looked up to the sky, to the only one who could possibly have an answer to that.

Freddie took a deep breath and started the first chords on the piano.

“Thank you,” John whispered, still looking to the sky, his eyes wet with emotion. “Thank you...”

**Author's Note:**

> Please, let me know your thoughts, all comments are truly appreciated!


End file.
